


i spoke about wings (you just flew)

by goldplate (ramshackleheads)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Friends With Benefits, Future Fic, M/M, Moving On, POV Miya Atsumu, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, but then not really, ish, this is me furthering my bokuto and atsumu best friends agenda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28572279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramshackleheads/pseuds/goldplate
Summary: “Ya absolute opportunist fucker!” Atsumu shouts over the phone, stumbling out the door with his sneakers barely slipped on properly. He forgot to throw on a jacket even, dammit.The rest of the team doubts that Bokuto’s privy to the… situation. Unlike Atsumu, they have the good sense to not pry. Bokuto’s an adult. He’s a big boy. He agrees, but his stake in this isn’t necessarily protecting Bokuto’s feelings, it’s to curse out his asshole of a twin brother.Look, Atsumu might not have the most experience with relationship or ex-boyfriend etiquette, but really? Not even a month has passed, and his twin’s already maneuvering himself to do God knows what.“Good mornin’ to you too, Tsumu,” Osamu drawls on the other side of the line. He already sounds done with this conversation. Oh, please.Or: The mess that Bokuto, Akaashi, and Osamu make, wherein Atsumu Miya is somehow the levelheaded one in all of this.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 125
Kudos: 357





	1. i pictured a rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> hi, i haven't written fic in years, but the osaaka and bokuaka brainrot is REAL. so my reasons for writing this:
> 
> 1\. i wanted to write a less than perfect akaashi  
> 2\. i wanted to write a less than perfect osamu  
> 3\. i wanted to write a less than perfect atsumu  
> 4\. bokuto is forever perfect. so i wanted to hurt him a bit :)
> 
> in my head (because 'post-breakup' is my AO3 tag of choice), osaaka has always implied that bokuaka is broken up. bokuto and akaashi share something very beautiful and special. i think they're soulmates in every sense of the word! i wanted to try and explore them having a flawed relationship, one that have a lot to learn from. also, imo osamu and akaashi have a very different, but interesting relationship dynamic, and i think it contrasts bokuaka very poetically (especially for akaashi in relation to his character arc). 
> 
> anyways, before i run my mouth, one more thing: they're in their 20s! let them fuck up, i say!
> 
> hope you enjoy!
> 
> (unbeta'd, i wrote this in a fugue state)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> atsumu POV because i am in love with him. but in all seriousness, i thought it would be interesting to tell this story from an outsider's perspective

It’s hard to keep it a secret.

The rumors pop up first on online forums, then on Twitter, then on Instagram. It gets vicious and overly speculative fast. Then Bokuto has to finally address it officially on his personal accounts.

_Akaashi and I have made the decision to go our separate ways,_ he writes in a caption underneath a photo of some plants and leaves with a light sheen of frost. _The decision was amicable, and he will remain one of my closest friends. I wouldn’t have made it this far without him. Thanks for giving us privacy._

The post is uncharacteristically sober, with most of Bokuto’s captions littered with emojis and excessive exclamation marks.

Akaashi blocks Bokuto for his peace of mind, locks his account and deletes the social media apps off his phone. 

* * *

“Bokuto! What the hell?!”

The ball bounces loudly behind his teammate as it hits the ground, and Atsumu grits his teeth. Anyone could’ve gotten that set. The rest of the team is voluntarily quiet, with Hinata scooping up the ball hurriedly, and Omi discussing something with Meian pretending not to hear Atsumu’s outburst. Barnes focuses on doing solo drills against the wall. Everyone is pretty much walking on eggshells, and it’s throwing everyone off. Their plays are disjointed and unfocused. Oh, Atsumu _hates_ it. If nobody has the guts to tell Bokuto off, then he will.

“Look, I know yer going through it, with the thing between you and Keiji an’ all… but are you fuckin’ serious?!” Atsumu fumes. “Don’t tell me you’ll be down in the dumps all the way up to finals?”

Bokuto scoffs and rotates his shoulder. He’s silent for a second. “Of course I won’t, Tsum. I’m just off my game.”

“Well knock it off, then. You’ve been off yer game for what? Three days? Do we need to call baby Keiji to–”

“Okay, Miya, knock it off,” Meian interrupts. It’s less than a month before the season starts, and they have a title to defend. Now isn’t the time for… whatever this is.

“Tell him to suck it up then. The rest of us are pullin’ our weight.”

Bokuto surprisingly doesn’t react to that at all, and just walks away to take a sip of water by the benches. 

MSBY practice and training sessions are tiring and difficult, but never awkward or stiff. They start the day with a morning jog and showers between breakfast and lunch, and spend the rest of the day either doing physical training or studying recorded matches diligently. It’s a routine that Atsumu has fallen into. He gets along with his teammates in a natural and easy manner, in a way that never really causes him to doubt or mistrust them, be it on or off the court. And… it’s fun to be around them, and play with them. It’s _fun_.

So this isn’t like them. Atsumu watches Bokuto from the corner of his eye take a seat on the bench to chew on his bottom lip distractedly and grip his thermos way too tightly. He _maybe_ feels a twinge of guilt from snapping at Bokuto awhile ago but he shakes it off. If one of them is off balance, the whole team teeters over and suffers. The Coach know this, Meian knows this, and Atsumu knows that _he_ knows this too. He and Osamu used to have explosive arguments over this exact same issue, with them going to bed with bruises and bandages. Off days are natural, but how many consecutive days in a row? Bokuto has to be insane if he thinks he can let his performance dip this badly.

He picks up a stray ball on the floor and faces the wall to cool off while doing his passing drills. He doesn’t hear Hinata approach him.

“I think he and Akaashi-san were together for almost eight years,” Hinata says beside him, since they’re out of Bokuto’s earshot, and Atsumu jumps in surprise at the interruption of his thoughts. The orange haired man also picks up a ball and does the setting drills beside him. “Since high school. And now it’s just… done? I guess.”

“Still no excuse.”

“Have you been through a breakup before, Tsumu?”

“Look, Shoyo,” he starts defensively, scrunching up his face. “I don’t think that’s relevant.”

Hinata laughs. “Okay, Tsumu. Whatever you say.” he says. “It looks like it’s really weighing on him, though.”

“That’s why we need to nip it in the bud!”

“No, but I know Bokuto-san! You just gotta shake him up a bit, I think.”

Atsumu doesn’t really have anything to say to that. He can’t say he understands it too much, either, honestly. But he doesn’t want to be the one having to clean up this mess. He makes some more small talk with Hinata for a bit, but the solo drills get boring fast. Atsumu sighs and walks back to the court, and calls on Bokuto to come receive the new serve technique he’s been working on.

The blonde tosses the ball high up into the air and slams it down. It has a nasty spin, and Bokuto almost doesn’t receive it properly, stumbling backwards and cursing.

“Again! C’mon Bokkun!”

He’ll push Bokuto hard, tire him out and make him work, until the dark cloud over their self-proclaimed ace finally breaks like nothing but a bad fever.

* * *

And break it does.

The MSBY Black Jackals demolish their opponent in their practice match, with Bokuto playing aggressively the whole time. In fact, it’s Atsumu that gets tired out from how demanding his teammate is. They watch the other team do their punishment drills.

After the win, Bokuto is energetic and outgoing again, treating everyone to dinner. Atsumu can almost hear the whole team’s collective sigh of relief at the first tastes of normalcy again. He’s practically the star of MSBY. Even the commentators call him one, the way he always has the crowds wrapped around his pinky finger. When he cheers, they cheer. When he claps, they clap along. The team wouldn’t be what it is without Bokuto’s energy.

They laugh over beers and yakiniku, and preemptively congratulate themselves on the upcoming season they know will be successful. But it’s also a celebration for Bokuto digging himself out of his rut, and all of them – well, except for Omi, who’s claimed the corner seat in their booth, and Atsumu who’s long accepted his role as a lightweight and therefore their designated caretaker for the night. The rest of them rowdily cheer and clink glasses.

“Hey hey hey!” Bokuto yells. Even the rest of the patrons yelp and hoot along with him. His charisma is natural and infectious.

The air is stuffy and humid inside the izakaya despite the dropping temperature outside, and the bartenders and waitstaff are all ecstatic to host the team for the night. They’re all thankful for every small cause to celebrate.

“Did you notice?” Omi quietly asks later on back at the dorm as Atsumu is changing into his lounge wear. The rest of the team has long since passed out in their own rooms with their stomachs satisfied, full of good alcohol and grilled beef – which Coach Samson will undoubtedly scold them for come Monday. Thank god for the weekend, though.

“Notice…?”  
  


“He was different awhile ago. While playing, I mean. Different, and I can’t decide whether I like it or not yet.”

Atsumu hums in consideration. So he wasn’t the only one to notice the very slight difference with Bokuto awhile ago during the practice match. It was in his serves and his spikes, a shift so subtle that you’d have to share the court with him to really notice. He doubts the few spectators or fans that were watching in the stands were keen enough to pick up on it. And Omi’s always been the discerning, observant type.

“I– yeah. Bokkun’s always been quick on his feet and aggressive to a fault. But he was… hungry. Hungrier and greedier than usual.”

Omi chuckles quietly and hangs up his towels. “Well. I won’t complain. Let’s just hope he keeps it up.”

Atsumu can’t begin to pretend to understand Bokuto and Akaashi’s relationship– no, ex-relationship. But eight years is a long time. He quietly ponders if Bokuto’s greed is just him making up for those eight years of having a soft cushion to fall back on when he slips up. Does he have to fall forwards now, to be the one to catch himself? Atsumu is old friends with greed, hell, they all need it to be able to win. But he also knows that if you let it consume you, if you let it carry you and launch you forwards like a violent gale, it never ends well. It can break you.

He slides the dressing room door closed carefully and pads to his own room. Everyone’s lights are off save for one room – there’s a faint glow coming from the crack in the door of of Bokuto’s room. The MSBY dorms leave a lot to be desired in terms of privacy, but having their own personal rooms is a blessing Atsumu thanks every god and deity for nonetheless. He’s had his fill of sharing a room with someone you see everyday for this lifetime and the next. Then a sound gently cuts through the otherwise silent hallway. It’s a soft, muffled voice behind his teammate’s door. He's talking to someone, and it’s in a cadence he’s never heard from Bokuto: wavering and cautious.

Atsumu figures that at the end of the day, it’s none of his business.

* * *

After another week, it turns out it’s not just a fluke, thank goodness. Even Coach Samson comments on Bokuto’s improvement and overall sharper game sense. He’s focused and more sensitive, and not the loose cannon he once was. Atsumu knows that Bokuto’s not the capricious player he used to be during their high school days, and hasn’t been for a long time, but this steadfast evolution of his teammate’s play style and demeanor is something to be marvelled at. And in such a relatively short amount of time too; Atsumu isn’t beyond admitting that would be absolutely terrified to find himself playing on the opposite side of the net from Bokuto. The MSBY Black Jackals have set themselves up for a great season, maybe their best, even. Everyone on the roster is in tip top shape.

Their routine remains mostly the same: eat, sleep, train, study. Except there’s an air of seriousness and anticipation that wafts through the dorms and the court, and on the edges of all their interactions. It’s the kind of anxiousness Atsumu has found comfort in over the years, and it builds up as they march closer and closer to the start of their first tournaments of the year.

They all spend some extra hours unsupervised doing drills to shake some of it off (much to the disapproval of Coach). Meian and Hinata like to meditate in the morning and in the evening together, Omi makes the extra effort to head to bed earlier. Most of them have picked up on their own personal pre-tournament rituals – Atsumu’s is doing yoga before their team breakfasts. And Bokuto is…well, he’s normal. Relatively, Atsumu figures. He’s still loud and rambunctious and downright irritating sometimes, but that’s just how he is. He goes along with his routines as usual, eats his meals as usual, gets up on the dot and heads to bed on the dot, like clockwork. All of them are disciplined, of course, but Bokuto’s strange calmness and straightforwardness unnerves Atsumu.

“Don’t you think he’s being a bit–”

Omi sighs and shakes his head, hitting the ball against the wall. “Like I said. I won’t complain.”

“Hinata, have you noticed Bokuto–”

“I think he’s found a good sense of balance lately. These past few weeks have been super difficult for him, but he’s back on his feet!” Hinata exclaims after executing a new strategy successfully with Bokuto.

“I don’t know if you guys picked up on it but–”

All his other MSBY teammates shrug it off.

“Meian, Captain, I’m worried about Bokuto.”

“Oh?” Meian says, a bit surprised. He and Atsumu are on dinner duty tonight, and they’re alone in the dorm kitchen cooking up some fried rice while the others take their showers. “How so?”

When he gets down to it, Atsumu doesn’t even know how to explain it. Is he seriously the only one who feels this? Is it because he’s the setter and he has to be the sensitive one? Is it because he has to temper his plays to be in sync with his hitters? To think that of all people, Atsumu is being the tactful one.

He thinks about Osamu. He thinks about how whether he liked it or not, he felt extra privy to his brother’s moods and quirks, not just because they were twins, but because their effectiveness as a setter/spiker duo relied on it. And to be a good setter…

“Bokkun is so… how do I put it, even? It’s as if we’re not starting our games in a week. He’s being so level headed about it. No, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we don’t have to baby him, and I doubt he’d even want that but–”

Meian tosses the rice in the pan. The oil sizzles. “I think he’s making really great strides in terms of maturing as a player. He has his own way of exhibiting calmness. Maybe it helps him to just go on like normal.”

Atsumu flips this thought around in his head for a bit. “But last season, we literally had to pull him away from the gym. He was there til like, midnight almost everyday.”

“Well, don’t be complaining that we don’t have to worry about that now!” the captain laughs. “Tsumu, but seriously. Maybe it’s him you should be talking to.”

“I’m just worried, because he went through this whole breakup thing with his long term partner recently,” Atsumu says, helping the other man portion the rice. “They were together for eight years. He was really bad for that one week. Could barely hit any of my sets properly.”

“So, you’re just worried about him. That’s normal, you know?”

“Of course I’m worried,” Atsumu mumbles. This wasn’t just about being teammates anymore, or about game performance. “But is it normal to be awful and literally trip over your own feet one day, and then flip a switch and be okay suddenly, no, even better the next day? And pretend like your life is just… fine?”

Meian calls out to the rest of the team to come down for dinner. He sighs. “Everyone deals with breakups differently. I know you haven’t had the time or patience to be in one yourself–”

“Hey! Why’s everyone been’ implying that?!”

“–but again, why are you talking to me about this? I get that I’m the cap, and I’ll talk to him if I need to, but you should too. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

* * *

Bokuto does not appreciate it.

“Tsumu, I’m fine, look, have you seen me slip up once during practice lately?”

“No, but–”

“But?”

Atsumu sighs, aggravated. “Let me finish! I’m sorry for, like, snappin’ at you.”  
  
“Oh, two weeks ago? I’ve already forgotten about that, man. Seriously. We’re good.”

“I just want to know that you’re doing okay, y’know, ‘cause of Keij- Akaashi. Hinata says you were together in highschool. And uh. That’s a long time.”

Bokuto pauses the video he’s watching on the laptop precariously perched on the bookshelf in his small room. Then he turns to Atsumu.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says. His voice is completely level, and it jolts the blonde.

“Bokkun–”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Me and Akaashi are good. He said he felt that we needed some time apart to grow and I agreed. So we broke up, simple as that. We had a good eight years.”

It sounds like he’s reading from a script. Just a combination of prosaic sentences he’s repeated to himself in his head for nights on end. Maybe to convince himself, maybe so he was ready to say it when someone had the nerve to ask. Someone like Atsumu right now, who was standing in the middle of Bokuto’s room in his socks and pajamas, realizing he had no plan for approaching this at all.

This whole vulnerability thing is bringing him out of his element.

“Do ya still talk to him?”

“Sure. We’re in touch, over text. We call sometimes because he lives alone in Tokyo and it gets lonely. He wishes the team good luck for the upcoming season.”

“Do ya really think you two should still be–” Atsumu stops himself. He starts again, letting his judgement go. None of his business, none of his business. What he was here for was to just make sure his teammate and friend was okay, not to be a relationship counselor. Not like he thinks he would have any useful advice to impart, anyways. “Well, tell him thanks.”

“I will,” Bokuto says, turning back to his laptop and hitting the spacebar to unpause the video. Atsumu is smart enough to understand the signal that the conversation is over.

“I just… hope you’re doing okay, man. I’m here if you want to talk,” the blonde says quietly. It’s understandable that Bokuto is being a bit surly, considering the topic. “Well, goodnight. See you tomorrow morning.”

“See ya, Tsum.”

  
  


* * *

It really is none of Atsumu’s business. He never really knew Akaashi personally, he doesn’t think they’ve ever had an actual conversation. When they started out in MSBY he immediately noticed that Bokuto’s boyfriend was a constant spectator at their Tokyo practice matches, and a loyal supporter at official games in his area. He remembers a disheveled, sweaty, frazzled Akaashi, running through the doors of their various venues, rushing to his seat just in time for the game to start. He would still be clutching his briefcase and his work ID lanyard would still be hanging around his neck.

And Bokuto would always perk up, automatically, because he always sensed when Akaashi was there watching. They would wave to each other from afar.

It had already been an unspoken understanding, even, that Bokuto needed the rest of the day and night off after their Tokyo games. Right after showering and press duties, the spiker was always like a hurricane, running out the doors to spend some time with his boyfriend around the city. Most of the others on the team (yes, Atsumu included) would tease and groan about how jealous they were of Bokuto, that he constantly had someone waiting for him after a game. But Bokuto would just laugh and shrug it off, too wrapped up in what looked like a never-ending honeymoon period. And on the evenings he couldn’t beg off, Akaashi always had packed food ready for him, good to last him a few days.

Akaashi was the very image of loyalty and devotion. And Bokuto was a star. No, he was _the_ star. Atsumu figures they complemented each other that way: easy, natural, and unspoken. He’s not one to be invested in his friends’ personal lives, but...

Was it the distance? MSBY had games in Tokyo regularly enough, and Akaashi would occasionally be the one to make the trip down to the Kansai region, too. Not only that, the two had vastly different lifestyles. Atsumu would have never pegged Bokuto to be the type to have enough goddamn maturity and patience to maintain a long distance, long term relationship. But maybe he had something that Atsumu lacked, because Atsumu can’t say he’s ever had anything remotely close to what Bokuto and Akaashi share. He’s ready enough to admit that much.

But he remembers something that Osamu used to say to poke fun at him. He mused that couldn’t believe that he and Bokkun were on the same team because they were too alike, and pairing them up would be the downfall of the Jackals. Of course, it turned out to have the opposite effect, with Bokuto satiating Atsumu’s appetite for competition and rivalry. They took MSBY to new heights.

“What do you fuckin’ mean we’re ‘alike’? At least I know when to dial down!” Atsumu had complained.

“Yer both so goddamn serious all the time. So serious that people feel compelled ta’ chase after ya. But in different ways, y’know? Ya bring out the worst in each other.”

Maybe. No wonder Atsumu and Bokuto make such a good team. No fucking wonder why he feels so invested in all this.

Atsumu squirms around in bed, eventually lying down on his side. He closes his eyes and makes an attempt to even out his breathing. _None of my business_ . _None of my business._ He has to repeat this to himself until it sticks.

  
  


* * *

He’s the most active on social media out of all of them. Being a pro athlete means being a public figure, and Atsumu isn’t about to shy away from the attention. He’d bathe in it if he could. He could almost hear his dear twin brother call him _Attention whore_ , in that smug, lilting voice of his. Good thing he has Osamu blocked. A little bit of distance never hurt anybody, and his twin doesn’t seem to mind. He’d rather not see the thirst traps Atsumu posts, anyways.

It’s a normal morning – the whole team’s at the table snarfing down breakfast. It’s getting chillier and chillier outside. It’s a comfortable semi-silence; chopsticks clack against the plates and bowls, the small TV drones on in the background, and Coach Samson is in the common room speaking to someone on the phone. Bokuto’s out on a short morning jog, which the rest of them think he’s insane for, with the dropping temperature and all. He just shrugged it off and slipped on his running shoes.

Hinata’s on Instagram next to Atsumu, scrolling through his feed while eating. He opens up his stories and almost chokes on his rice. He immediately puts down the phone like it just burnt him.

Omi looks at him suspiciously from across the table. “What was that?”

“Hmm, nothing!” Hinata hums. Yeah, right. Then he starts fidgeting and checks the front entrance to see if Bokuto has arrived.

“No seriously, what.”

The short man groans, and kicks his legs under the table. “It’s Myaa-sam’s stories! His ‘close friends’ stories. Have you seen them?”

Speak of the goddamn devil.  
  
“Myaa-sam?” Omi asks. So judgemental.

“You’re ‘close friends’ with that fucker? Since when?” Atsumu asks, more importantly.

Hinata shakes off the unnecessary questions. Then he picks up his phone again and taps opens Osamu’s profile, then taps again on his profile picture.

The short video starts to play, and it’s just him walking down some nondescript street. Based on the geotag he’s in… Tokyo? Atsumu doesn’t really keep tabs on where his brother is stomping around too closely, but figures it makes sense because he’s been looking to expand Onigiri Miya there.

There’s someone walking beside him, and it’s Akaashi, who looks mostly the same. It’s just that his hair’s a bit longer compared to when they last crossed paths. The video’s a bit shaky and it’s mostly of Osamu walking down some shopping area, but Atsumu has seen Akaashi enough times in person to be able to recognize his profile and his stature. So they hung out. Which would’ve been harmless, fine, whatever, except when the video ends, the next part of his story pops up. It’s the two of them in a small cafe. Osamu’s taken a candid shot of Akaashi, who’s sitting across from him drinking some kind of warm drink. There’s a short caption on the corner of the picture that reads, _My Tokyo date. Thanks for being my personal guide. <3 _

Hinata keeps replaying the thing, pestering his two teammates still at the table about what they think it means. Atsumu inhales, exhales, and then inhales again. 

_That absolute opportunist fucker._


	2. you held it in your hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the love last chapter <3 it made me want to edit this as fast as possible!
> 
> a quick note: i have no idea how japanese division 1 tournaments work irl, and i had no time to actually research. so let's just pretend that their tournament has several games spanning a few months, in different venues across the country/area. i don't make them travel around that much to avoid confusion, but this is just in case someone reading goes... wait that's not how these things work lol

“Ya absolute opportunist fucker!” Atsumu shouts over the phone, stumbling out the door with his sneakers barely slipped on properly. He forgot to throw on a jacket even, dammit.

The rest of the team doubts that Bokuto’s privy to the… situation. When he got back from his jog, he was business as usual, loudly greeting everyone and heading up the stairs to change. They decide not to bring it up because they have no good reason to; unlike Atsumu, they have the good sense to not pry. Bokuto’s an adult. He’s a big boy. Atsumu agrees, but his stake in this isn’t necessarily protecting Bokuto’s feelings, it’s to curse out his asshole of a twin brother.

Look, Atsumu might not have the most experience with relationship or ex-boyfriend etiquette, but really? Not even a month has passed, and his twin’s already maneuvering himself to do God knows what.

“Good mornin’ to you too, Tsumu,” Osamu drawls on the other side of the line. He already sounds done with this conversation. Oh, please.

“I saw yer Instagram stories.”

“I thought ya blocked me.”

“Look– I did, okay? That’s not even the goddamn point. But Hinata showed us. What in the actual fuck were ya doin’ with Akaashi?”

Osamu hums. “It’s what it looks like? I was in Tokyo to check out some spaces for the shop, stuff happened, we ran into each other. Then he showed me around. The city’s beautiful this time o’ year.”

Atsumu pauses, fuming. He didn’t know that they were on friendly enough terms to even make spontaneous plans when they were in the same city. When did the two even first meet? Was it at that match against the Adlers like two years ago?

“I can hear ya thinkin’,” his twin sighs into the phone distractedly. He can hear some muffled chatter and shouts in the distance. It sounds like he’s in a marketplace. “Ah, yes Ma’am. I’ll take two carrots, no, make that three. And a–

“I didn’t even know you two were friends.”

“–yeah, a bag of this. Thanks,” Osamu continues to the shop lady. He sighs and diverts his attention back to his brother. “Well, we are now.”

“Asshole.”

“You may be older by two and a half fuckin’ minutes, but you’re not my mother, ‘kay? Keiji an’ I have a perfectly fine, adult relationship.”

The blonde scuffs his sneaker against the gravel. He had to step out, out of the rest of the team’s (read: Bokuto’s) earshot, just to berate his brother. Fuck this. It’s way too early to be playing mediator for his brother’s messy, impulsive relationships.

Wait– ‘adult relationship’? Is he _serious_?

“Yer fuckin’? You an’ Keiji?!”

The muffled voices in the background of the call quiet down, as Osamu weaves through the crowd into a more quiet alleyway. “You know, Tsumu, you can be so goddamn vulgar sometimes.”

Atsumu doesn’t care about ‘vulgar’. No, he’s way past that. Not when it’s Osamu he’s talking to, about whatever the fuck he’s got going on with Akaashi.

“So yer fuckin’. Just say it! He literally just got out of like, an eight year relationship with my _teammate_ , my _friend_ , so you think ye can jus’, swoop in–”

“Yer Koutaro’s keeper now, huh? He put you up to this?”

Atsumu groans in frustration at the constant interruptions. “–like a knight in shinin’ armor, or whatever. God, why can’t ya just answer my questions?!”

“Look– we’re seein’ each other. Casually. Okay? Interpret that how ye want to. Yer making such a big deal outta all this.”

“I wouldn’t be makin’ a big deal outta this if you could at least make the damn effort keep it in yer pants, for _once_ in your life!”

“Oh, look at the time,” Osamu says loudly, sarcastically. It’s grating. “I have a business to run, so don’t call! Later, Tsumu, an’ fuck you.”

But the blonde doesn’t get a chance to reply – the line’s dead already. “Fuck you too!” he grits out, and it earns him a few disapproving looks from the passing elderly couple walking their dog.

Great. Now he’s saddled with this information that he didn’t ask for and won’t be able to get out of his mind. Well, okay, maybe he did kind of ask for it because he’s the one that called up his brother for it. But it’s still Osamu’s fault, totally his fault. Atsumu would _not_ have called if there were nothing to call about.

It’s not his problem that Osamu thinks with his dick. It _is_ his problem, though, that he may need to cover his own ass because he’s the proverbial middleman between whatever the fuck’s going on with his brother and Akaashi, and Bokuto. 

Atsumu proceeds to begrudgingly unblock his brother on social media, and keeps an eye on his Instagram stories. It’s no use though. As of his last updates, Osamu’s already left Tokyo and is en route to Nagoya for more R&D. The rest of it is just pictures of the market, and pictures of whatever izakaya or stall he’s found himself at. 

So Akaashi and Bokuto broke up, probably because of the distance, only for Akaashi to get with someone who’s never in one place for more than a few weeks anyway? That’s rich. Coming from a pro athlete, Osamu is probably one of the busiest people Atsumu knows. His growing onigiri business is basically his whole life, built from the ground up. He doesn’t know where his brother can fit in being a rebound in his packed schedule.

Ha. That was a good one, he should tell his brother that.

Atsumu walks back in and slides the glass door open with more force than necessary. Bokuto’s coming down the stairs as the blonde stomps back in. The setter walks past his teammate and into his personal room to get ready for the day, for the sole purpose of stopping himself from running his mouth.

* * *

Just their luck. It completely flew over Atusmu’s head that their first game was in Tokyo.

While they’re on the bus to the arena, his brother sends a photo of the Onigiri Miya booth ingress. _See ya_ , he texts, as cavalier as ever, as he didn’t just get chewed out.

And because he’s a stupid nosy idiot, he taps on Akaashi’s profile and sees that he’ll be at the game later too, based on his story. He looks over his shoulder and peers at Bokuto, who’s sound asleep with his noise cancelling headphones on. Ah, maybe it’s true that ignorance is bliss.

The bus pulls up into the venue parking lot and they hop off, swiping their gym bags from the storage area. They’re here early, so there’s not much of a crowd yet. It’s easy enough to slip into the building without getting swarmed. Everyone’s in a good enough mood, and despite everything, Atsumu’s feeling great about the game today.

Right before their games, the locker room is always rife with silent tension. Usually, it’s strangely comforting and familiar. But today, the silence feels like a constriction, like he’s waiting and listening for a pin to drop.

So of course, Atsumu says the one thing he probably shouldn’t say. Instead of slicing through the tension cleanly and gracefully, he drives a sledgehammer through it.

“Keiji will be here later,” he hears himself say without thinking, just to break the silence that’s overtaken their changing room. Stupid, stupid. Of course. “So will my brother,” he quickly fumbles, trying to save face. “Ah, with his onigiri. ‘Cause he’ll have a booth at the side.”

Omi looks at him pointedly and rolls his eyes, and Hinata laughs awkwardly. “Oh yeah?”  
  


“Y-yeah. There’s a new flavor he’s trying out, he said it’ll be available later. I think karaage. I can ask him to reserve some for us?”

“Oh, that’d be great, Miya, thanks,” Meian says sharply, sensing Atsumu’s agitation. The last thing they all need is some brouhaha right before the match. The setter silently thanks him with a subtle nod.

Bokuto’s on the bench, tying up his shoelaces. “It’s okay. I know they’re seeing each other,” he says casually, like he’s describing the weather. He beats Atsumu to it. He’s facing away from them, so his expression is hidden. But his back is as broad as ever, and he’s sharp and sure with his motions. He taps the back of his sneaker against the floor to make the fit more comfortable.

“What?”

“Akaashi and your Myaa-sam, er, your brother! I know they’re seeing each other.”

“I. Ah.”

“Good for them,” says Omi, unenthused. The blond sends him a dark look, and Omi just shrugs.

Well, if anything, this saves Atsumu a lot of inner turmoil. He was beginning to reluctantly accept the inevitability of playing telephone with his brother and Bokuto. But if Bokuto seems okay with it then…

His teammate stands up and turns around, towards them. His face betrays his carefree tone. His thick eyebrows are slightly drawn together, and his jaw is clenched. Even his shoulders sit awkwardly high. It’s a tight, unnatural expression, trying too hard to be neutral. The whole team sees right through Bokuto.

“How’d ya find out? Keiji told you himself?” Atsumu asks. If Bokuto is being stiff, so is he. He tries to play it cool, like it’s no big deal either way, as if this hasn’t been nagging at him for the past few days.

“Yeah. I told you we’re still in touch.” Bokuto raises his chin slightly, silently daring anyone to question this or suggest it’s a bad idea. Nobody does.

Atsumu cannot wrap his head around this. So of course he runs his mouth yet again. “And you’re okay–”

“So you guys don’t need to treat me like, I dunno. A baby? I know already. I’ll be fine– I’m the ace!”

He and Bokuto lock eyes, and Atsumu begins to understand what his brother meant when he said they were alike. _You can’t fool me_ , Atsumu says in his head, as he watches his teammate fortify the walls he’s built up around himself. _You’re like an unstoppable force and I’m maybe the one who can meet you in the middle._

* * *

The sizable crowd cheers: the MSBY Black Jackals manage to squeak out a victory. It was a close game, with the Tachibana Red Falcons barely giving them time to catch their breath. It’s only the first game of the tournament, but Atsumu and his teammates feel over the moon about their win.

Hinata lets out a triumphant shout, pumping his fists into the air. The crowd imitates him, as energetic as ever.

The arena smells clean, the air crisp with the scent of salonpas and rubber. They’re doing their usual post-game rounds taking quick pictures with fans and signing autographs. As Meian ushers them to the side to keep things moving along, Atsumu spots his dark-haired brother to the side, still busy selling the last of his stock to the crowd vacating the venue. Just a few feet away is Keiji, leaning against the wall in a long coat, tucking his chin under the off-white scarf hanging around his neck.

Atsumu calls out an apology to Meian and Coach while waving, and runs off in the opposite direction of where the team is being herded off to, towards his brother.

Keiji is the first one to spot him approaching, still a bit sweaty from the game. He nods tentatively at the blonde, and he nods back. Osamu then looks up from the change he’s counting with an impassive expression.

“I reserved some for yer team. Included some of the new flavors we’re testin’ out too. ‘Grats.”

This is how they apologize to each other. Neither of them are good at talking, so Osamu handing over the bag of food is a gesture, a tentative question. Atsumu reaching out and receiving it is also an apology in itself. It works for them; if it’s not broken, then why fix it?

_I’m sorry for blowin’ up at you so early in the mornin’,_ Atsumu apologizes in his head as their knuckles brush against each other. He knows his brother will get it. But he’s stubborn: _I’m still judging you though._

Their identical gazes meet, and he can almost hear Osamu say, _And you can judge all you want. I’m not budgin’._

In his old age as a venerable twenty-something, Atsumu’s proud to say he’s mellowed out from the rakish and arrogant guy he used to be in high school (though he’s not about to outright admit he’s totally grown out of it – he has the right to be a bit haughty. I mean, have you seen him?). Maybe spending time apart from his brother has helped him along. Pursuing different paths was probably the best thing that happened to them; he can’t imagine hypothetically having to train and play with his brother in the professional league. They’d drive each other insane. He pats himself on the back for this acknowledgement marked by maturity, and lets their argument go… for now. So, Atsumu concedes and says:

“Thanks, Samu.” He takes the paper bag, embellished with a small circular sticker of the Onigiri Miya logo to seal it. It’s still warm, and he holds it from the bottom.. “Keiji’s over there.”

“I know, I invited him ‘ere.”

“So he came because of you?”

“Why dontcha ask him yerself?”

Never mind. His annoyance towards his stupid twin flares up again like an old cramp.

“Smartass.”

“Busybody,” Osamu sneers, and goes back to counting change. They’re just in the middle of packing up.

“Hello, Miya-san, and Myaa-sam, are you still busy?” Akaashi greets as he approaches, in his steady voice. He’s very handsome up close, with his sharp features even if they’re somewhat hidden behind his horn rimmed glasses and knit scarf. He sports a similar impassive expression as Osamu. “Congratulations on the win. You played very well today.”

Myaa-sam? Did he pick up that ridiculous nickname from Bokuto?

“I keep tellin’ ya, Keiji, you can call me Osamu,” the younger twin chuckles.

Atsumu rolls his eyes, ignoring his brother, “Ah, thanks Keiji. And you can call me Atsumu. It was a good game.”

The three of them fall into silence. Osamu continues to fill up the egress forms and his boyfriend? Fuck buddy? Special friend? observes patiently. For once, Atsumu doesn’t have anything to say to make up for the lull in the conversation.

And just as he’s about to excuse himself to save himself from just standing there awkwardly with the paper bag in his hands–

“Hey, hey, Tsum-Tsuuuum, where you at?” Bokuto calls out from behind, freshly showered and changed. He’s jogging towards them. Awesome. Just what he needed. “Coach’s looking for you, so is Cap, for the postmortem.”

“I’ll be right there, Bokkun. Was just sayin’ bye to–”

“Oh, Akaashi.”

Oh, _great._

“Well, goodbye everyone,” Atsumu says, way too cheerfully, and runs towards the showers. He’s made this enough of his problem, which is way more than it should be, because this wasn’t his problem at all to begin with.

_Yeah, keep tellin’ yerself that, Atsumu_ , he thinks to himself, but for some reason it’s in his wretched brother’s voice...

Akaashi adjusts his glasses. “Bokuto-san.”

“Er, hi.”

“Hello.”

“Yo, Koutarou. Congratulations on the win.”

“Mya– ah. Osamu. Thanks.”

Bokuto rubs the back of his neck, mulling over his words. “And thanks too for coming today, Akaashi. It means a lot.”

“Of course. I promised I’d never miss a MSBY Tokyo game.”

“Yeah, I remember you saying that,” the spiker chuckles. “S-say, ‘Kaashi. After the coach debriefs us, will you still be around here? I mean, it’s cool if you have plans after. I was just, y’know. Wondering.”

Akaashi glances towards Osamu, who shrugs. The Onigiri Miya booth is all neatly packed up, with all the bags and boxes in the cart ready to go.

“Well, Osamu-san and I made a reservation–”

The darker haired twin clears his throat and shakes his head, slipping his cap off. His hair is disheveled and sweaty. “Nah, Keiji. Go ahead. We can move the reservation to later or call for a rain check. I’ll still be here tomorrow. ‘Sides, still have ta do some paperwork for the venue management. Damn suits.”

“Ah. I see. Only if it’s not an inconvenience,” Akaashi says.

Bokuto reddens a bit and looks down. “I mean, I wasn’t…” he stutters. “It’s not like I’m gonna steal him away for the whole night, you guys can still have dinner. I just wanted to catch up for a bit.”

Akaashi’s eyebrows raise, ever so slightly.

“As friends. If that’s okay,” Bokuto adds, pointedly.

Osamu watches the two of them, and wills himself to ignore the uncomfortable tightening in his chest. “Well. Take yer time, an’ just keep me posted.”

* * *

The venue is mostly cleared out by the time the MSBY post-game debriefing is over, so it’s not difficult for Bokuto and Akaashi to find a quiet spot in one of the hallways.

Coach Samson was satisfied with their plays and execution overall, praising them for a great tournament starter. He replayed clips of their standout moments: Hinata’s seemingly impossible dig, Omi’s five consecutive service aces, Inunaki’s miraculous save with his left foot. They happily dug into the hearty onigiri as they went over the game.

It all flies over Bokuto’s head, though. He’s too fixated on meeting Akaashi afterwards. And it doesn’t help that Atsumu’s gaze keeps flitting over to him when he thinks that he doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t have any ulterior motives, or any schemes of whisking Akaashi away to pull some rom-com plot twist. He knows he can’t change Akaashi’s mind. Bokuto likes to think he’s taking the breakup in stride, and is holding up his end of the bargain of being careful friends. He likes to think Akaashi’s doing this to try to do the same, too.

They walk around a corner, and find themselves in the lounge. Only a few people are there: some high school students hanging around the vending machines, and the venue security warming themselves up inside. Bokuto stops in front of the well-worn couch and motions Akaashi to take a seat.

“How have you been, Bokuto-san?” he asks, dusting off the sides of his long coat. It was a gift from Bokuto, from two winters ago.

“I’ve been, er. Okay. Just been focusing on training and practicing. Having something to do everyday helps me focus.”

Akaashi clasps his hands together on his lap and wrings his fingers. It’s an old nervous tic that both of them recognize. There’s really no point in trying to conceal these things to each other; even after their breakup, they’ve spent too much time tangled in each others’ lives that honesty is simply the default. They’d see right through each other, regardless.

“Hm, me too. These days I’m just inundated with manuscripts I need to edit. But Udai-san and I are making good progress, I’d like to think.”

“That’s good to hear. I hope the department doesn’t overwork you too much. You’re still trying for the department transfer right?”

Akaashi smiles gently and shrugs. “You know that’s not up to me, Bokuto-san.”

“Well, if it were up to _me_ , then…,” he drifts off, catching himself falling into the usual teasing tone that characterized most of their interactions over the years. Bokuto inhales and reigns himself in, trying to play it cool and keep a friendly distance. “I wouldn’t, y’know. Overwork you.”

“I appreciate it. Maybe you could send a note to my bosses,” the darker haired man gently jokes, and Bokuto smiles. A beat passes. Then another. Then another. Akaashi’s next words come, visible from a mile away: “Are you seeing anyone?”

The answer is immediate, like the words were second nature. A simple truth Bokuto had been ready to admit to, a question he had been just waiting to be asked. “Akaash– Keiji. No. I can’t. I’m not, it’s been like, a month,” he says, almost forcefully.

Akaashi winces and looks away. Ah.

Bokuto tries to backtrack, realizing his mistake. “No, wait, I’m not trying to imply anything, or scold you or– y’know. Say you’re not allowed to or make you think that I’m judgin’, because I’m not–”

“Bokuto-san.”

The spiker’s words die in his mouth. He lets him continue.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi repeats, with his mouth twisted into a frown. Bokuto’s name has always sounded so clear on his tongue. But then he meets his ex-boyfriend’s large, gold eyes. “You can judge me. You have the right to.”

“I’m not, though.”

“I’m not hurting you, then?”

“It hurts like hell, Keiji,” Bokuto almost whispers, his voice wavering. “But you’re free to do what you want.”

Akaashi’s knuckles are white as he twists his fingers together even tighter, They’re completely alone in the lounge area now, and it’s dark out. There’s just the sound of the air conditioner droning on, monotonous and steady.

“I’m not sorry, you know,” he continues, sitting ramrod straight. It’s classic sober Akaashi, restraint personified. “I’m not sorry for asking to end things.”

Bokuto nods, and takes in Akaashi’s honest words. He’s never been angry or disappointed in his ex-boyfriend – frustrated, of course, annoyed, sure. But there isn’t a universe where Bokuto could hate him, or doubt him.

“You don’t need to explain, Keiji,” he says, and he means it.

“Osamu is–”

Bokuto flinches. His resolve breaks. “Keiji, no. Please. You don’t need to explain,” he repeats, his voice wet. His head feels heavy, like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t stay rooted in his spot next to Akaashi on the small, worn couch. It’s an odd feeling for Bokuto, feeling like he can’t move an inch. He’s so used to taking up space, declaring himself, making himself look larger than life. But here next to the love of his life, he feels like the world may as well be as big only as the two of them here together, and he wouldn’t even think to question it. 

“Koutarou.” Akaashi’s hand softly touches his knee, tentatively. “I was so scared I couldn’t meet you where you were.” 

And Bokuto crumbles, losing his strength, and leans into the other man and cries into his cream scarf. They sit there for a long time clutching each other. But not in apology, and not in regret.

* * *

Outside the lounge, Atsumu leans against the wall and sighs. He decides to give them a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs for this chapter:  
> [goodmorning - bleachers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0pocjTJQ5I&ab_channel=Bleachers-Topic)  
> [somewhere somehow - oddnesse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L7A1NcyM-oM&ab_channel=TheLazylazyme)  
> [champagne problems - taylor swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wMpqCRF7TKg&ab_channel=TaylorSwiftVEVO)
> 
> also, let's talk on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/msbytwelve)!


	3. everyday i write the book, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little flashback chapter. i think this was one of my favorites to write – akaashi's POV came so naturally because he's my favorite character that resonates a lot with me. i hope you enjoy :)
> 
> cw: some sexual content, but i don't think it's enough to warrant an explicit tag. also, alcohol

Akaashi hates it when it rains. He’s a boy scout; he carries a foldable umbrella everywhere and his coat is water resistant. So readiness isn’t really the issue, it’s the chilliness and inconvenience he despises. He grumbles when he feels the first droplets of cold rain fall on his head.

But it’s not like he wants to head home either, to his empty and quiet apartment. Well, quiet, empty, and now bare. He’s never been an over-decorator really, preferring simplicity and practicality. But with Bokuto gone, it’s now more apparent. His small apartment may be warmer than walking around aimlessly after a long, long day at work, but he doesn’t feel welcome in it, either. So Akaashi continues walking, ignoring the fatigue in his joints. The streets all start to look the same.

Then it starts to rain harder, no longer a drizzle. He doesn’t have time to fish for his umbrella in his backpack, so curses and ducks under the nearest awning. Akaashi instantly regrets not slipping into the Family Mart he just passed a few minutes ago. Then he could’ve also picked up a cheap, passable dinner there too, to avoid the slog of whipping up something in his cramped kitchen. His bare, cramped kitchen. Ah right, his refrigerator is also pretty bare. So instead, he’s standing under a nondescript roof, attached to a nondescript building, on a nondescript street. How far has he even walked to no longer recognize where he is? And he’s pretty much soaking through his coat too. Just great. This was the opposite way he wanted to end his week.

Having more time to himself has always been a double edged sword for Akaashi. To him, it isn’t a luxury, or an opportunity for relaxation and rest. He figures he might as well work, and work, and work. He was able to get through more than half of the menacing stack of documents and manuscripts that greeted him first thing in the morning. But when he returned from his reluctant break, there was even more work to do. He supposes it’s better than having no work at all, and being forced to be alone with his awful, gnawing thoughts. At least Udai-san looked a bit apologetic and promised to hand in the color spread he was working on before the end of the day. Akaashi sighs and looks up to the sky, willing the cold rain to stop, and thinks about the edits he’ll inevitably have to take care of once Monday rolls in again like a bulldozer into his sorry excuse for a ‘weekend’.

A warm light switches on behind him, cutting through the dark and gloomy street. Akaashi turns his head; it’s a modest bar with worn furniture and that charming homey vibe. He doubts even more than fifteen people could fit inside. He isn’t in an area he frequents much so he’s not familiar with the neighborhood’s drinking and dining scene, but it looks like a decent enough establishment.

Then a middle-aged woman wearing a plain apron slips out of the backroom and catches him staring.  _ Come on in _ , she mouths, as she motions him and smiles.  _ You look like you’re freezing out there _ . Her face is round and friendly, and Akaashi can’t help but accept her kindness.

“Sorry for the intrusion, I don’t think you’re open yet?” Akaashi greets as he pushes open the heavy door. Thank goodness it’s warmer and dryer inside.

“We’re not, but it’s not like I’m going to just leave a young man like you standing out there in weather like this,” the woman says heartily, letting him hang up his coat to dry. “Let me get you a beer.”

The dark haired man shakes his head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I’m running on an empty stomach so I don’t think alcohol’s the best idea right now. Thank you though.”

“Then let’s get you some food! No offense, dear, but you look miserable and starving.”

Akaashi can’t argue with that – he’d be surprised if he  _ didn’t _ look like he was miserable and starving. He sighs as he takes a seat on the comfortable stool nearest the wall. “Well, okay then. But I’ll be out of your hair once the rain lets up.” And after he figures out where the hell he is and what his route home looks like. Working in Tokyo can be so overwhelming sometimes, and it makes him feel that if he’s not careful, he’ll fold himself into something small enough to fall through the cracks.

The lady hums and disappears into the back room to prepare. Akaashi, now alone at the bar, buries his head in his arms against the counter. On any other day, he’d be grossed out at himself for making such close contact with an unfamiliar surface, but today, he can’t really bring himself to care.

His apartment is empty, he reminds himself. It’s neater and cleaner after the whole, exhausting weekend of purging all the dirt, junk, and trash. But it’s empty. Bokuto’s personal belongings, clothes, toiletries, everything, have been packed into boxes and were picked up this morning. They didn’t exactly live together because Bokuto stayed in the MSBY dorms, but he had spent his long weekends and off seasons at Akaashi’s, happy to veg out.

Akaashi’s chest hurts, like it’s made of slowly hardening concrete. It’s been a week, he thinks, but he’s having difficulty counting. He’s buried himself with work and cleaning just to avoid the onslaught of emotion that inevitably comes with overthinking. He pats himself on the back for not shedding a tear over it, not once, even as Bokuto walked out the door.

Fuck it. Akaashi deserves the beer.

The lady comes back out, with several small plates in her hand, and it smells delicious and smoky. He forgot how hungry he was, and his mouth waters. She sets it before him: some yakitori, a simple zosui, and edamame.

“Could I also get that beer?” he asks.

She chuckles, already grabbing the tall glass of the counter. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The food is delicious, and the beer cuts through it just perfectly. He finds it almost hard to speak between his bites and sips, but he swears he almost starts crying on the spot. The nice lady takes it upon herself to serve him seconds, and Akaashi doesn’t complain, and doesn’t even consider the fact that he’s paying for all this at the end of the evening.

She flips open the small sign on the door, officially signalling that the establishment is open. “Dear, just let me know if you need anything!”

He nods as some people shuffle in, and it gets a bit louder and warmer inside. It was comforting having the place to himself, but being able to just retreat into the crowd of salarymen and students looking for a drink is also a relief. He takes a long swig from his almost empty glass.

Akaashi doesn’t notice that the sky outside has cleared up, and the umbrellas of the passerbys on the narrow street have been folded up. Instead, he calls for another beer.

* * *

And that’s how he finds himself halfway to passing out on the counter, after his 4th? 5th? beer. He’s pretty sure he might’ve snuck in some shots of something even more vicious between, but he can’t remember. He’s already nursing an oncoming migraine, sobering up. Akaashi’s long since passed the point of caring about the bill he has to foot. He hopes they take card because there’s no way he has enough yen in his wallet.

“What time is it?” he groans, hoping someone hears him.

The lady who took care of him earlier chuckles good-naturedly. “It’s only one-thirty, Dear. Maybe take a break and pace yourself?”

“Eugh.”

Akaashi wills himself to look up and around him. It’s a Friday night – the bar’s still full and lively. He’s not entirely sure what kind of drunk he is, because he never really was the type to party hard in university, or even at work celebrations. So getting plastered like this is new. Is he even drunk? He just feels awful and bloated, like he’s stuck to the bar stool. At this time, the trains have already stopped, so he groans about the prospect of having to take an expensive taxi home.

Akaashi  _ really _ hopes they accept card payments.

He takes a sip of the hot tea the nice lady places in front of him. It’s a good change of pace. “Ma’am, I’m sorry I never asked for your name. You’ve been taking care of me all night.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright. You can call me Masami-san.”

“Masami-san, thank you. My name is Akaashi.”

She smiles warmly and makes small talk, leaning against the counter. “I’ve never seen you in this area before. Most of the patrons that find themselves here every week are regulars.”

“I don’t know how I got here,” he says sheepishly, staring at the small teacup clasped between his hands. “I mean, I was just walking after work to clear my mind…”

“Where do you work?”

“Ah. At a publishing company in Chiyoda. I’m an… uh. An editor.” Of a weekly shonen manga, he doesn’t add. Akaashi allows himself to utter the half-truth, to pretend for a little bit.

“And you walked all the way here? Must be a lot in your mind that needs clearing up,” she Masami-san says, but it’s not nosey or intrusive. Her genuine concern feels like a warm embrace, and Akaashi has to remind himself he’s an adult with a job and bills, thank you very much, before he stands up to satisfy his urge to hug her like a lonely child.

“You could say that,” he chuckles. Then he adds, “I just broke up with my long-term partner a few days ago and I didn’t want to head home yet.”

“Oh.”

“I’m trying to convince myself I didn’t make a huge mistake by asking him to go.”

He doesn’t know why he’s telling her this, but somehow it’s easier to let the words slip out of his loose mouth in his state of post-drunk clarity, letting his confessions get drowned out by the chatter of the establishment. Akaashi wishes he could be this honest all the time, especially to himself.

“Did you fight about it?”

“No,” Akaashi croaks. “That’s the thing. We didn’t even fight. H-he just accepted it.”

“Sometimes not fighting does hurt more, yes.”

“I feel like the window is closing for me to take it back,” he says, but it’s mostly to himself. A simple fact that he’s been avoiding. Every passing day feels like a rope constricting around his middle, restraining his arms and chest. He needs a distraction. He needs something else to think about. He needs proof that his excuse of wanting time and freedom to unlearn dependence wasn’t just an excuse, but something he genuinely needed.

“Do you want more tea, Akaashi-kun?”

He nods silently and presses his eyes closed.

* * *

It’s almost three AM by the time Akaashi is able to unstick himself from the bar stool and pay his bill (which he decidedly didn’t read, and just handed his card to Masami-san). She helps him up and he slips his coat back on, which is now thankfully dry.

“You can come back here anytime you like, Akaashi-kun!” she waves. “Even if it’s a bit far away from your office…”

He laughs gently and thanks her again, turning around and steeling himself for the next big challenge of the night, finding a taxi home. He’d love to just kill more time to avoid it, but he has to repeat to himself:  _ I’m an adult. I’m an adult. I’m an adult. _

Sighing, he turns his head down and walks as carefully as he can to the nearest street corner. And then someone has the nerve to bump into him.

“Hey, watch it,” Akaashi grits out. He’s not in the greatest of moods.

“Oh, sorry, sorry.”

Wait. The low, playful voice is familiar. But he can’t place it. Akaashi spins around quickly, almost stumbling over. The man catches his elbow.

“ _ You _ watch it,” he chuckles. The man is wearing a dark gray cap, and the streetlight casts a dark shadow on his face. It’s…

“Akaashi Keiji, Fukurodani setter? That you?”

“Miya… twin?”

Osamu lets go of Akaashi’s elbow and teasingly rolls his eyes. He takes off his cap and fluffs up his hair. “Hey, I know we’re unfortunately identical twins, but at least learn how to differentiate us.”

“O...samu-san, then,” the shorter man says. It’s easy enough to remember because Akaashi knows the other twin has a shock of light blonde hair. “Though in my head, you’re Myaa-sam, because that’s what Kouta– Bokuto-san always calls you.”

“Is that so. Well, you can call me Osamu.”

“Okay.”

“Where are you headed? It’s like, 3 AM Akaashi Keiji!” Osamu asks. They’re just standing in the middle of the sidewalk, but shuffle to the side as a drunk couple almost crashes into them. He isn’t the type to make small talk with acquaintances, but it’s not like Akaashi was in a hurry to get anywhere, anyways. He lets it happen.

“I could ask the same for you.”

Ignoring the question, Osamu exclaims, “Don’t tell me you were out bar hoppin’? Never pegged ya as the type.”

Akaashi flushes with embarrassment and looks away from the other man’s strong gaze. “It was just one bar. I don’t really go crazy, you know.”

“Well I was about to do the same. The night’s young! But I’m glad to have some company now.”

“Oh, well–”

“Have any recommendations ‘round here? Don’t really know the Tokyo drinkin’ scene that well, sorry.”

“Neither do I. And I’m actually done for the night. I have to head home now.”

“Oh?” the taller man asks, quickly catching up to Akaashi, who’s started to take a few steps to go on ahead. “Where d’ya live?”

“Near my office in Chiyoda.”

Osamu balks and shakes his head aggressively. “Yer serious? This late? Nah, I’m not heartless enough to just let you find yer way back there at this hour.”

“Myaa-sam, I’ll be just fine. I’ve sobered up and besides, you had plans,” Akaashi says, still not meeting his eyes. Everyone has been so kind to him this whole evening that it’s a bit bewildering.

“Jeez, I can go bar hoppin’ any day I want. Not takin’ no for an answer! C’mon. I have a car. It’s a bit shitty, though,” he laughs, placing his large, warm hand on Akaashi’s shoulder. He leads the way. “I know I said I’m not heartless, but I can’t say I’m generous enough ta’ drive you all the way home. What do ya feel about crashin’ at my place for the night?”

“Mya– Osamu-san,” Akaashi starts, already ready to protest the offer, but he doesn’t know how to continue. Why is he so quick to protest? Isn’t this exactly what he wanted, a reason to not head home to his own apartment? “Are you absolutely sure?” he confirms, instead. Akaashi is a mess, his personal life might be in shambles, but if there’s one thing he isn't, it’s rude.

“Oh, c’mon. Of course. I’ll even let ya have the bed.”

Akaashi smiles, a small smile. In a rare, miniscule act of spontaneity, he tugs on Osamu’s sleeve and lets the taller man lead the way.  _ Let things happen, Akaashi, isn’t this what you wanted?  _ he thinks to himself.

__ “Fine, then,” he says to both himself, and to his new friend.

* * *

Osamu’s apartment is just a studio. Small, cramped, not dissimilar to Akaashi’s own. But he’s thankful for the change of scenery for the night, anyways.

On their short car ride back here, the taller man preemptively apologizes for the state of his place. He explains that it’s really more of a transient apartment, just so he has a place to crash in the city when he visits Tokyo.

Akaashi lets him talk his ear off about what he’s doing in the city as he watches the buildings and lights outside pass him by. Osamu’s here to scout out possible areas and spaces for Onigiri Miya’s up and coming Tokyo branch, and to do some research and development on flavors that would click with the market here. Officially, it’s a business trip, but he claims he’s also here to have some fun. Hence the bar hopping.

Osamu’s surprisingly talkative, despite his stoic appearance and demeanor. So Akaashi just lets him talk and asks him questions when needed; it’s refreshing to be the one doing the questioning for once. He feels he’s done enough confessing tonight.

Akaashi fluffs up the pillow and places it on the bed. Osamu was also kind enough to let him shower, and even lent him a change of clothes. He’s finally sobered up, and now he’s just tired. The taller man is also fresh out of his own shower, and stands casually by the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“Is everything good over there?”

“It is, Myaa-sam. Thank you.”

Osamu pads in and sits beside him on the bed. “I’m glad. I know it’s not much but–”

Akaashi interrupts him immediately. “No, _thank_ _you_. I mean it” he murmurs. “You’ve been very kind.”

“It’s easy to be kind to someone like you, Keiji.”

He turns away and frowns, swallowing down the urge to debate that. He’s just here because he was too much of a coward to go home and face himself, and face reality. Nothing about this is because of his ability to channel or attract kindness from others.

A large, warm hand places itself on Akaashi’s thigh. The same hand that held him up, preventing him from stumbling earlier. It’s a bridge between him and Osamu. The warmness of his palm is a faint question, and Akaashi lets him ask it.

“Keiji, ya okay there?”

“Mhmm.”

“I don’t like liars, jus’ sayin’.”

Akaashi has always known that Atsumu was ridiculous, but apparently so is his brother, in different ways. Maybe it runs in their family. “Not lying.”

“Well, I won’t push.”   
  
“Good, I don’t want to talk about it.”

They fall into a silence, but the hand doesn’t leave Akaashi’s thigh. It starts to make his heart rate speed up, he realizes, but without it, he feels like he might just evaporate.

Osamu keeps his eyes on him, unwavering. Akaashi feels exposed and naked under it. He feels present, and alert, like a wounded animal. Their gazes meet for a few seconds, waiting for the other to give in.

And then the hand pulls away, and their staring contest ends.

“You should get some rest,” says Osamu, quietly.

“Stay with me,” says Akaashi, defiantly.

Now that’s a first.

The taller man doesn’t dare move an inch, but the question is plastered on his face. Oh, for god’s sake. In a rare moment of bravery, Akaashi leans forward, bunching Osamu’s soft shirt in his hand. Their lips meet, drily and awkwardly at first. It fuels Akaashi with more want, more greed. He repeats the action more forcefully to prove his point with bold lettering, with underlines, and with italics.

And Osamu’s never been known as the kind of guy to back down from a challenge.

He sinks his tongue into Akaashi’s waiting mouth, and lies him down on the bed. He cages his partner’s smaller frame with his strong arms, and weaves his fingers through his thick hair. The man beneath him, on the bed of his shitty, lonely studio apartment, is beautiful and ravishing. Osamu can’t help but kiss him even more, deeper, sinking into the feeling.

“Wait,” Akaashi suddenly chokes out, between their rushed kisses. “Wait.”

“Everything okay?”

“Y-yeah, just. I want to remove my shirt.”

“Ohoh,” Osamu chuckles. His excited hands have already found the hem of Akaashi’s shirt.

“Oh, shut up.”

Akaashi slips his top off, and he immediately makes hands at his partner’s, taking it upon himself to lift it up and remove it too. It’s only fair.

But god, it’s also unfair how beautiful Osamu’s body is. Despite not playing volleyball for a few years now, his muscles are still cut, and his chest and arms boast their strength.

“You have a beautiful body too, Keiji,” he drawls.  _ Oh shit, did I really say that out loud _ ? Akaashi curses to himself. 

Osamu laughs at his expression. He must look like a deer caught in the headlights. “Runnin’ a restaurant ain’t a joke, y’know. It helps to be in shape.”

He smirks and starts to run his hands over Akaashi’s smaller torso, which has gone soft from the years of inactivity. He has his office job to thank for that. But he doesn’t shy away from the sure touches. It feels good. It feels  _ so _ good; he wants to be crushed in the feeling.

They kiss some more, and Akaashi feels like he’s drowning. He can’t think – rather, he doesn’t want to think. He wants to let this happen, and let himself be crushed and consumed by his handsome, kind, ridiculous partner for the night. He never does this. He’s never had the  _ chance _ , or reason to do something like this. A part of him feels irresponsible, obscene, even. Like he’s stuck his hand in the candy jar and is somehow getting away with it. It feels him with a rush, that makes him want more.  _ Give into it, Akaashi.  _ He wants to be selfish. More.  _ More. _

“More,” Akaashi gasps, as goosebumps erupt over his body when Osamu tweaks his sensitive nipples. He’s hard under the sweatpants lent to him, and he can feel the other man hard against his thigh too.

“I’ll give it to you,” he hears Osamu whisper in his ear, but he sounds so far away. “So good.”

“Give it to me.”

_ Make me feel whole and full. Pick me up and put me back together. _

Osamu understands.

Akaashi shakes with pleasure all night.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Akaashi wakes up with a headache. Well, everything aches really. His neck, knees, his hips, his ass.

His partner is snoring beside him, sharing the small bed. The bed frame wasn’t designed to fit more than one person, so at some point during his short sleep, Akaashi was smooshed against the wall.

He tries to adjust himself carefully, not wanting to wake Osamu, who was so good to him last night. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but he finds it pretty hard to complain when he shifts his gaze over to the taller man’s broad, strong back that’s facing him.

Akaashi spots the faintest red scratch marks on that same back, all across Osamu’s shoulder blades. He blushes and feels himself getting hard again under the thin sheets.

Allowing himself this quiet moment of peace, he realizes with cautious surprise he doesn’t find guilt in the concoction of emotions coalescing in his gut. Anxiousness, a bit of self-consciousness, and hopeful giddiness. Check, check, check. But not regret. Not guilt. He sighs in relief while he still can.

_See, Bokuto-san_ , he whispers to himself. _This is me being brave._ _This is me doing new things._

Osamu yawns awake and stretches his long legs beside him. He slowly blinks awake and rubs his eyes.

“Hi,” Akaashi greets quietly. He doesn’t want to disrupt the stillness of the morning.

“Keiji,” he says, affectionately with a little smirk. Then, his expression darkens very slightly, almost unnoticeably, but Akaashi picks up on it anyway. Osamu pauses to find the words for whatever he’s trying to say, which is out of character, at least based on how he was the talkative one between the two of them last night. He seemed like he always knew what to say next. But not anymore, apparently. 

Akaashi braces himself. He should’ve known; he’s probably going to be kicked to the curb and be forced to do his walk of shame in sweaty, day old clothes, nursing the same transportation issue he’s had since yesterday evening. He resigns himself to returning to the reality that exists outside of Osamu’s quiet apartment. Well, at least it was fun. He already gets ahead of himself, figuring out how to get home in the cheapest way possible. At least the trains will be open. Akaashi’s pretty sure his Pasmo still has more than enough balance.

“Keiji,” Osamu says again. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“About?”

He gulps. “Aren’t ya with Bokuto-san?” 

Ah.

Osamu sits up and plants his feet on the ground, facing away from Akaashi. “I s’ppose it’s my fault fer not verifying. But it’s literally the first thing I realized when I woke up. I feel like an asshole.”

“We broke up,” Akaashi admits immediately. He realizes this is the first time he’s said it out loud to someone he knows. “We broke up.” He repeats it for good measure.

“I- I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t see his post a few days ago?”

“I’m not exactly invested,” Osamu chuckles. He sounds relieved, but then catches himself. “Wait, a few days ago? You mean…”

“Yes, I broke up with Bokuto-san last week, and I couldn’t wait long enough to find another man to sleep with,” Akaashi says sharply, beating him to it. He doesn’t need to be reminded about the mess he’s making. “And that’s why I’m here. It’s exactly what it looks like.”

Osamu quickly turns and grabs his knee. He looks down apologetically. “Hey, Keiji. Sorry, I didn’t mean ta’ imply anything. I had fun, I don’t regret it. I jus’...”

“I had fun too. You were so good.”

The other man blushes and grins, his apprehension immediately forgotten. A gleam of mischief flashes upon his face. “Well, in that case…,” he teases, pressing himself up to Akaashi and grabbing his soft, tapered waist. “I want you all to myself.”

“Oh?”

“You felt so good,” Osamu whispers, his voice all scratchy. It almost melts Akaashi, how attractive this man is. They lie back down, but their movements are slower, and more indulgent. “And now I get to have you.”

Akaashi lets him. He has no reason not to.

“So have me.”

* * *

It’s almost comical how much time they spend together in bed that day, until Akaashi steps up as the responsible adult and declares that they have to eat something. And he has to head home at some point – this time he really means it.

Osamu whips up a delicious late lunch for both of them. They eat together on the floor of his living room under the kotatsu, both in their underwear. It’s improper, but who cares. Akaashi lets go of his usual, default state of apprehension. And… it’s easy to. His conversations with Osamu are effortless, with them pushing and pulling. There’s no expectations. It keeps him on his toes, and Akaashi decides that he likes it.

Later that afternoon after a few more rounds of sex, they both declare defeat and decide to call it a day. Akaashi successfully convinces Osamu to drive him home, because frankly, he doesn’t think his legs are stable enough to hold up on the swaying trains. Especially since the Saturday evening rush is about to start.

“Yer lucky you’re so cute,” he exclaims as he starts up the car with a yawn.

The city outside looks different from the city Akaashi’s used to. He can’t really place why. But he lets the lull of the car rock him to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

“Keiji. Keiji, we’re here. Is this yer place?”

Akaashi opens his eyes and stretches his neck and shoulders. His apartment complex sits right outside, still looking as gray and plain as ever.

“Yeah, this is me.”

Osamu turns the car off, and it’s quiet.

“Well, this was fun.”

“Are you free tomorrow?” Akaashi asks immediately. To hell with shame.

“Well… I’m mostly doin’ work stuff, but I wouldn’t mind a personal tour guide. Might get lost an’ all.”

They both smile and start to laugh. “Well, good thing I’m Tokyo, born and raised. You’re in luck.”

Osamu fishes out his phone from his pocket, and they exchange numbers under the orange glow of the street light outside. They agree to meet for lunch at the Akihabara station. The taller man mentions needing to hit a couple of places, like a few local markets and some commercial spaces he’s looking to rent out for the new branch. Akaashi honestly doesn’t know a thing about the local markets, or really much about the dining scene in the area because it’s not really something he indulged in often.

Bokuto-san was usually the one who showed him around new restaurants and–

Akaashi stops himself from continuing that thought. He hands Osamu’s phone back to him.

“Osamu-san,” he starts. “You’re not in Tokyo often are you?”

But they both sense the implicit question:  _ When can I see you again after tomorrow? _   
  
The other man looks away and leans against the steering wheel. “Tomorrow’s my last day here. After that… well, to be honest with ya, I haven’t planned that far ahead,” he sighs.

“Well, okay then.”

“I’ll keep in touch, though, Keiji.”

“I will too.”

And then he adds:

“This is just casual.”

Osamu turns to look at him, and his expression is unreadable. But then it clears up. “Of course, Keiji. Let’s just have fun.”

Akaashi sighs in relief. “Yeah. Let’s just have fun.”

He opens the car door and steps out into the chilly evening. Osamu waves bye to him and waits for him to safely get up the stairs and into the apartment unit.

When Akaashi unlocks his door, his place is the same as ever reminding him that his weekend escapade was just that: an escapade. His belongings are unmoved and still. The sweater he haphazardly threw across the back of his small sofa and forgot to clean up is still there. The chair he forgot to push back to the dining table is still in the same position.The quiet hum of his refrigerator is still there.

And everything is Akaashi: sparse, predictable, tired. It weighs on his shoulders. Maybe this him, at the end of the day, when you strip away the excitement that a lover can bring, or the promise of a new day in the city.

Outside of those things, what exactly does Akaashi have to offer? He’s long accepted that maybe the exciting parts of his life have long passed. He had his fun in high school, and the newfound independence of being a college student was great, but it wore off quickly. Now all he has is a job he’s still trying his damndest to learn how to like, an ex-lover who will shine blindingly bright even without him, and an empty, dull apartment he never bothered to decorate because he way too busy with everyone and everything else.

Bokuto’s boxes are indeed gone from the threshold where they sat this morning, and the key his ex-boyfriend used to proudly keep on his keyring sits on the counter. He realizes, that’s the only thing about his apartment that’s different compared to how he left it. A small reminder that from here on out, his life is now different. And he chose this.

Just as Akaashi loses the strength in his legs, he grabs the key and holds it to his chest tightly. A sob racks through his tired body and he sinks to the floor.

_ Don't tell me you don't know what love is  
When you're old enough to know better  
When you find strange hands in your sweater  
When your dreamboat turns out to be a footnote _

_I'm a man with a mission in two or three editions_

_And I'm giving you a longing look_  
_Everyday, everyday, everyday I write the book_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good news! i've finished writing all the chapters, so all i need to do is edit them! thanks for all the love and feedback <3
> 
> songs for this chapter:
> 
> [everyday i write the book - elvis costello](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1d4r9awjKE&ab_channel=ElvisCostelloVEVO)  
> [something about us - daft punk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0MknB6wFo&ab_channel=DaftPunk) (!!!! THE OSAAKA SONG!!!!)  
> [first love / late spring - mitski](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WCphVz0ZGns&ab_channel=Mitski-Topic)
> 
> hmu on my [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/msbytwelve)!


	4. everyday i write the book, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to present day! i really enjoy writing the twins

The MSBY Black Jackals are able to keep up their winning streak. They’re back and forth between the greater Tokyo area and the Kansai region for their matches, but at this point, they’re all accustomed to the hard slog of long bus rides (or bullet train rides, if they’re lucky).

Their next match, the tournament semi-finals, is in Kobe, the capital city in the Hyogo prefecture and the twin’s hometown. Atsumu is glad to be home, getting the green light from Coach Samson to sleep at his family’s home instead of at the hostel booked for the team. It’s near enough the gym and arenas anyways. He’d pick sleeping in his own bed over having to bear his teammates’ snoring any day. And he even has the bunk bed to himself; his brother had moved out a long time ago in favor of an apartment closer to Onigiri Miya. Osamu spends most of his time in their hometown to tend to the onigiri shop, so the twins’ parents are overjoyed to have both their sons home at the same time.

It’s welcome time away from the team. Atsumu spends almost all his time with them, and it absolutely does get tiring living with your rival-teammates.

He walks down the familiar, quiet street of his family home after dinner. His mother spoiled him with his favorite dishes, luxuries he missed indulging in at the dorm because he never really wanted to bother cooking anything more extravagant than rice bowls or breakfast food. The bus stop is just around the corner, and he hops on the next one without having to think. The route is familiar, not like the way he had to adjust to figuring out the buses and trains in Osaka when he first had to make the move. Osamu had invited him over for some drinks after closing down for the night, and Atsumu makes his way over to Onigiri Miya main branch situated a bit nearer the city center.

The interior of Onigiri Miya is way more lived in compared to when Atsumu last visited. It’s past closing time; the chairs are propped up on the few tables inside, and only half the lights are on. When he walks in, his brother’s still hard at work wiping down the counter from the day’s grime.

“Ya like Yebisu right?” Osamu asks, sliding the ice cold can of beer to his twin over the counter. He grabs one for himself, cracking it open, and leans against the surface. “‘S all I have left in the freezer out back, so tough.”

“Sure,” Atsumu says. “Not like I should be drinking, though.”

The darker haired twin scoffs as he takes a long sip. “C’mon. It’s just one.”

“Fine.”

“Here’s some water too, an’ some edamame.”

“Thanks, Samu. Don’t wanna overeat though, Ma already fed me at home.”

“Just eat it! Yer a lightweight. Can’t have ya passin’ out on me when you have a game tomorrow evening.”

The blonde just narrows his eyes and chooses not to answer.

It’s been around a week and a half since that awkward encounter between Akaashi, Bokuto, and Osamu back at their first Tokyo game. He’s out of the loop about whether his brother and Akaashi still ended up meeting up later that evening for their dinner reservation. Osamu’s not really the type to update him about these kinds of things. After that, Atsumu joined the team as they boarded the bus back to the hostel. All he knows is that Bokuto slithered into the accomodation they were staying at an ungodly hour that night, trying his bestest to be inconspicuous about it. The blonde tried not to let his imagination run wild.

Atsumu didn’t mean to have eavesdropped on his conversation with Akaashi in the lounge, but curiosity had gotten the better of him. But it’s not like he was meaning to; Meian asked him to go hunt down and fetch Bokuto so the team could all board the bus together and get back in one piece. Seeing they were still deep in their conversation (and embrace), Atsumu had scurried back to his team, making some excuse that Bokuto told him that he’d be finding his own way back to the hostel, and assured them that they didn’t need to wait for him.

Contrary to popular belief, Atsumu still had some tact in him.

So much for it being none of his business. He had only heard the tail end of it, but it was enough information to add fuel to the fire that was his exasperation towards Osamu. He didn’t think his brother knew where exactly he was slotting himself into. It’s as he thought: Bokuto’s so-called, newfound focus and post-breakup “clarity”… it was all just a facade. And one he surely wouldn’t be able to keep up. The fallout wouldn’t just be a professional one; it would also be personal.

“Penny for yer thoughts? And speakin’ of pennies, this beer ain’t free,” Osamu cuts in, taking a seat beside him with a tired sigh.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Yer just nervous for tomorrow?”

Sure. Yeah. Among other things. “I’ll be fine. We’re all prepared.”

They talk a bit about the business, and the prospects of expanding. The new Osaka branch is already up and running, doing cautiously well, thanks to a miraculously cheap commercial space Osamu had found near Dotonbori. It’s cramped, and more of a stall really, but it’ll do for now. Atsumu can’t take away the fact this his brother is good at what he does.

Tokyo is still up in the air. It’s understandably more difficult to find a suitable space, given how dense the city already is with dining establishments. Competition will surely be more vicious, and the market more difficult to penetrate with very little brand recognition outside of the Kansai region. Not only that, his time between the main branch and the Osaka branch will get split up even more – making regular trips to Tokyo on a small business’ budget is no joke. Osamu’s still contemplating on whether it’s worth the risk.

_Your fuck buddy lives in Tokyo, though, and you didn’t have to think about the risks of_ that _decision,_ Atsumu wants to say in a swift flash of cruelty. His mouth twists, but he keeps it clamped shut for once.

“Keiji says a Tokyo branch is probably a good idea though, in the long run…” Osamu mutters anyway, more for his own sake really, opening up the door to this conversation himself.

“He showed ya around, didn’t he?”

“Well, it’s more like _I_ showed ‘im around. He hardly exits his bubble outside of his office an’ his apartment,” the younger twin laughs, fondly. “I introduced him to the magic of farmer’s markets.”

“When did you two meet anyways?” Atsumu can’t help but ask.

The other man hums and thinks. “I think I met him for the first time, like, two years ago? At Shoyo’s debut BJ game against the Adlers. But I recognized him as the Fukurodani setter. I sold him some onigiri at the game.”

The blonde rolls him eyes and shoves him weakly. Osamu curses him as his beer sloshes, with some spilling on the counter. “I don’t mean like that. I mean, how’d ya start fuckin’ him?”

“Tsumu–”

“No, really. Did he just come up to you outta the blue? Because I highly doubt it, Samu.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into ya, seriously,” Osamu grits, annoyed. “I ran into him one evenin’ near my Tokyo apartment.”

“I told ya. Yer an _opportunist_.” Atsumu makes sure to enunciate it.

The younger twin gets up and grabs his empty can of beer, forcefully tossing it into the trash bin. He stays on the other side of the counter at his usual spot during store hours, putting some distance between them.

“What if a told ya,” Osamu hisses, leaning forward. “That it was _his_ idea? That Keiji’s the one that kissed me first, and asked me for it? And why the hell would I deny him somethin’ he looked like he needed?”  
  


Atsumu gets up too, wanting to be at eye level with his brother. “Because yer an asshole that can’t keep it in yer pants! Sleepin’ with someone who’s barely out of a relationship, whose ex is literally the friend of yer brother… this is a new low, even fer _you,_ Osamu!”

The other man laughs incredulously and leans back with arms akimbo. He takes off his cap. “And since when did _you_ become the patron saint of prudence?”

Atsumu’s lips curl up, but he lets his brother continue. “Honestly? I care about Keiji. It’s not like we’re in a relationship – it’s jus’ for fun. _His words._ So whatever happened to him an’ Koutarou before me is none of my goddamn business.”

“So all ya care about is getting yer dick wet, got it, forget everythin’ else,” the blonde spits out. “I care about _Bokkun_.”

“Yer missin’ the point!”

“The point is that you’re an asshole! Dontcha get it?!”

“Look, Tsumu, just _drop_ it. Koutarou doesn’t need ya to protect his honor! I don’t get why you’re so fuckin’ affected!”

This makes the blonde pause. He thinks about the conversation between Bokuto and Akaashi, the one he had no business hearing. He thinks about the version of Bokuto he caught a glimpse of in that room, devoid of all vanity and pretenses. He wasn’t a star. He was just a man, disassembled. Akaashi held the pieces in his hands.

It’s not that he necessarily wanted to protect Bokuto. It’s not that. As a setter and spiker duo, they had developed an unspoken sense of trust between each other. First, it started as a necessity, but inevitably it evolved into a genuine friendship that allowed them to challenge each other. But sometimes, even Atsumu couldn’t keep up. The blonde knew his friend needed someone to hold his ankles down, as he built up velocity for a jump. Without it, he may as well break on impact on his way back down. In high school, he learned that birds have hollow bones so they can fly.

“You know,” Atsumu snarls, firm and still with ire, “because the ball was in yer court. _You_ could’ve refused. _You_ could’ve said no to him, and known better.”

Osamu’s expression darkens and he crosses his arms across his chest defensively. He shakes his head. “Keiji’s an adult. Koutarou’s an adult. _I’m_ a goddamn adult. Maybe it’s _you_ , Atsumu, that needs to grow the fuck up.”

In that moment, Atsumu braces himself and jumps up to scale the counter to tackle his brother. Then, the melodic chime of the shop’s entrance cuts through their impassioned argument. The blonde has a fist around the collar of his brother’s dark t-shirt when both of them whip their heads around to check who showed up at the door, at this time. It’s way past closing time.

“Ah. A-am I interrupting?” says Akaashi in a tentative tone, carrying a box of pastries from a familiar bakeshop nearby, and standing awkwardly with one foot inside and one foot out. He sports a spooked expression behind his fogged up glasses. “I–I... can go.”

The twins stay frozen in their position. So does Akaashi.

“I can go,” the man by the door repeats, already taking a few steps backwards.

Atsumu shoves his brother forward in a final fit of agitation, and he stumbles back a bit, catching himself on the fridge behind him. The older twin gets down from the counter and both of them grumpily smooth down their shirts and hair. 

“Ke-Keiji? What are you doing here?” Osamu asks, caught off guard, rushing to where Akaashi is standing by the entrance to take the box off his hands. “Here, let me take your coat too.”

“Surprise?”

“Huh? But. Ya went all the way down here?”

Akaashi reddens a bit and scratches the back of his head, a bit bashful. “I’m here for the Jackals game tomorrow, but I wanted to stop by here too. I was able to get some time off work, and you said you’d be in town,” he admits. “Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No, you weren’t,” Atsumu cuts in darkly. He grabs his backpack from the empty table he placed it on earlier, swinging it around his broad shoulder. “I was just on my way out.”

“Yeah, he was,” Osamu confirms, just as cutting, with his back towards them as he stores the pastries in the small fridge.

“I see…”

Without another word, the blonde rushes out of Onigiri Miya without sparing them another look. The heavy door creaks open, and the chimes clang angrily against it. It’s an ugly sound. He walks all the way back home.

* * *

Akaashi wraps himself up in Osamu’s bedsheets. The bed is bigger and more comfortable than the one back in Tokyo, and his stiff back rejoices.

His apartment is cozy, and has more personality that indicates it’s lived in. It’s a bit messier: there are little trinkets on the shelves and on the kotatsu in the room outside, various pictures of the Inarizaki team haphazardly taped to the wall nearest his bed, and a fuller refrigerator. Osamu’s Tokyo apartment was mostly just a bed, a bathroom, and a kitchenette.

His clothes are still strewn across the floor, thanks to their impatience. Akaashi didn’t even get the chance to question Osamu about what went down at the shop with his brother. He stares a bit longer at the clothes but ultimately decides he’s too lazy and fucked out to pick them up. He doubts Osamu will mind when he’s the one that tore them off. “I– to be honest, on my way here, I realized that all I had was my overnight bag. But nowhere to sleep.”

“Didn’t think it through?” Osamu teases lightly, as he changes into his sleeping clothes. Akaashi watches the movements of his shoulders keenly, appreciating. “Lucky for ya my bed’s big enough for two.”

“I don’t really do stuff like this.”

“But yer having fun,” the taller man poses and smiles, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on his partner’s forehead.

He tilts his head upwards. “I am.”

They curl up together under the covers. Akaashi wraps his arms around Osamu’s warm torso from behind and sighs into his back. His hands trace the other man’s fingers, clasped between his own.

“I haven’t seen you in awhile, Osamu. It’s been weeks.”

“Keiji, I missed ya too. That last sleepover we had in Tokyo… I hardly got enough of ya. It was even better than the last.”

“But you’ve enjoyed my–uh. The pictures since then…?” Akaashi asks, ducking his head and burying it between Osamu’s strong shoulder blades. Osamu chuckles warmly.

“Oh, I definitely enjoyed ‘em ‘Ji.” Akaashi blushes even further at the nickname. He practically had to muster all his courage to hit send.

“But seriously, Osamu. I’ve been having a lot of fun. You’re so… easy to talk to. I feel like I bore you sometimes.”

The taller man turns around to face his partner, up close. Their breathing syncs up, and Osamu threads his thick fingers through Akaashi’s hair. Since their first time running into each other in Tokyo, they’ve seen each other a few times (not like anyone’s counting, though), with each instance ending with them falling into bed together at Osamu’s little Tokyo apartment. It’s pure bliss, to have something to look forward to every few weeks. Every time Osamu has to leave Tokyo, Akaashi kisses him a little harder, delirious with affection and lust. And it’s surprisingly easy, letting him go and letting himself get pleasantly surprised when he finds the man all tangled up in his net again a few weeks later. Osamu never asks too much, or prods too much. It’s an arrangement that works for them. It’s a welcome distraction, and welcome attention.

“I don’t think you could ever bore me, Keiji.”

“Sorry,” Akaashi softly apologizes. “This is all new to me. Ever since high school... “ he drifts off, chastising himself for letting himself walk into this topic. Overthinking has no place in his nights with Osamu, he had promised himself. This was his one reprieve. _Let yourself enjoy it_ , he tells himself _._

Osamu gives him a dry, sweet kiss on the lips. “No, no, go on.”

“It’s new to me. This whole, casual thing. I don’t know how to date, or see anyone – I-I mean, not that we’re dating, per se. It’s just that I’ve never had to, is all.”

“Because you’ve been with the same person since high school,” the taller man says, completing the thought. Akaashi nods and tucks himself closer into his partner.

“It’s different. I’m trying to tell myself that ‘different’ is okay. That having things to learn is okay.”

Osamu is quiet, but he strokes the slope of Akaashi’s shoulder to let him know he’s still awake, and still listening intently. They’ve never quite talked this over; Osamu’s not really the type to, and he hasn’t really felt the need to. He never really wanted to force Akaashi into a corner, either.

“It wasn’t just the distance,” the smaller man confesses. It’s a short, clear confession. The first of many tonight. “It was a lot of things. I had been with him since high school, all throughout my university years, and as he went pro. I feel like everything was absolute with him.

“Sometimes I felt that we were becoming the same person. Which looking back, is crazy. He’s so different from how I am. But we just stopped… trying, I guess. All our cards had been laid out on the table for the longest time that we never even thought to fight or challenge each other.”

Akaashi’s partner nods quietly and thinks for a bit. “Many couples dream of having that kind of relationship. The type where ya never have to fight.”

“Mm. But it was constricting me. When he had to move away to Osaka for the team I didn’t even put up a fight. I was so proud of him, but it was so easy. And then I found myself starting to resent it. Resent _him_ ,” Akaashi sniffles out. “And I began to resent myself for even allowing myself to feel that way. My love for him, Osamu, it was so unconditional. But I felt that I was getting left behind.”

“How so?”

“I felt that I was just… retreating into the background of my own life. Whatever I have in Tokyo, it’s unremarkable. My job, my apartment, they’re just, _unexceptional_ . I’m not trying to be self-deprecating. It’s just the truth. I couldn’t compete with him anymore, or chase after him. Sometimes, _he_ was all I had going for me.”

Akaashi starts to weep quietly into Osamu’s chest. The humiliation of pouring his heart out to the one person who was supposed to help him move on from all this begins to creep in. He tries to shush the voices taunting him: _You fucked it up, Keiji, of course you did. Now Osamu will see why you’re so easy to leave, and he’ll do the same._

“We promised to be friends, to stay friends, even after,” he rambles on, figuring he’s said too much, so at this point, there’s no point in stopping. “And we are. We text. Sometimes he calls. I can’t live a life without him. There’s no bad blood between us – I could never hate him.”

“What do ya talk about with him?”

“Not a lot, really… we’re in touch maybe once a week. He tells me about his training, or about the games, and I just talk about what I had for lunch that day, usually… things like that. But I haven’t lately, I’ve been talking to you more.”

Osamu sits up a bit and grabs a shirt from the floor to use as a temporary, makeshift handkerchief for his partner. Akaashi accepts it gratefully, sits up as well, and wipes his tears and snot. He leans into him, chasing the warmth of the larger man.

“I said too much, I think,” he whispers hoarsely, both to himself and to Osamu. It’s apologetic and shameful. “I’m sorry. This was meant to be fun, and I dumped all that on you.”

“Nonsense, Keiji,” says Osamu reassuringly. He wraps his thick arms around him, and Akaashi nearly melts into it. “Ya needed to let it out sooner or later. I ain’t here to judge ya.”

“You’re too kind to me.”

“You make it easy to be.”

Another sob racks through Akaashi at the words. He’s spurred on to continue.

“I still love him. I miss him. I don’t know how to stop,” he adds, hushed, as to not disturb the air. Any louder and Akaashi is scared that Bokuto might hear him, miles away. “I’m so afraid of what will happen if I stop.”

Osamu looks away and out into the window by his bed. The night outside is still, and the sky is clear. He sees his own reflection on the glass, and he wears a tired expression. The dark circles that sit under his slightly sunken eyes are a shade darker, and his hair is much shaggier than he remembers, too. He hasn’t really had the time to look in the mirror to inspect himself for the sake of personal vanity. He cleans his face, shaves, and brushes his teeth in the morning, washes it all off at night, and crashes straight into bed. This is the first time he’s seen himself properly in weeks, without the face he needs to put on for customers and clients. Osamu realizes that this is him, and this is the version of him that Akaashi sees.

His head is constantly filled with thoughts and worries about the shop, about Tokyo, about Hyogo, about Osaka, about Atsumu, about Keiji, about Keiji, Keiji, Keiji, _Keiji_.

“My brother thinks I’m an opportunist, that I’m greedy, and that I’m just screwin’ around with you,” Osamu then admits. “That’s why we were fightin’.”

“O-oh,” Akaashi stutters. “I–” 

But before he can get the wrong idea, Osamu shakes his head quickly and embraces him quickly.

“No, Keiji, I’m not jus’ screwin’– I mean, we _are_ , but you know what I mean. I like you, an’ I genuinely enjoy your company. My brother was just… sayin’ all sortsa things.”

“Like?

He sighs. “For starters, he thinks I should’ve said no to you that night.”

Akaashi doesn’t need to ask why. “Do you agree with him?”

“...I don’t, Keiji. I don’t regret it. I don’t care about who or what came before me–”

“But–”

“No, no, lemme finish. It’s okay. It’s not that I don’t care about how you feel about it, about Bokuto. I get it’s important to ya, and I can’t take that away. But, if it’s a new start ya need, if it’s a clean slate, I’m willing ta’ give that to ya.”

Akaashi looks down and wrings his fingers together. “If anything, I’m the opportunist between us two,” he wavers. “I couldn’t even wait a _month_ , and you were just the first person to… look at me, to give me the time of day.”

“So what? None of that stuff matters to me Keiji. It’s somethin’ new, it’s somethin’ fun. Who cares how it starts?”

And Akaashi doesn’t know what to say to that. He has no argument in return. He has no rebuttal against kindness. Osamu faces him again, and his expression is unguarded and uncomplicated, even in the cool darkness of the room. A pang shoots through Akaashi’s chest. They understand each other, but it’s not the same brand of transparent, universal understanding that he and Bokuto share (once shared?). This one is an invitation, it’s a process. It’s a hand on the doorknob, waiting. To that, Akaashi says, _please hold. I’ll be there in a minute._

He takes his partner’s warm hand and places it against his own bare chest. “Thank you, Osamu.”

They kiss, first chastely, then deeper. But it’s not desperate and hungry like their kisses earlier in the evening; it’s unfaltering, certain. It’s an assurance: _I’m here._

Akaashi falls asleep shortly after that, in Osamu’s embrace. It must’ve been a tiring day for him, with the train ride, and this whole evening. He looks at peace when he sleeps, naked but warm all wrapped up in the bed sheets. The ever-present crease between his eyebrows disappears, and his long, dark eyelashes lay gently across his cheeks..

The taller man watches him idly for a few more minutes before drifting off to sleep himself. In his half-asleep state, his usual rotation of nightly thoughts begins. He anticipates opening up the shop first thing tomorrow morning, then leaving it to his branch manager so he can drive down to the arena for the pop-up booth with his backseat packed with freshly made onigiri. He wonders if Akaashi would want to hitch a ride with him there – the passenger’s seat will be free, anyways. He blearily thinks about the Black Jackals and what they have up their sleeve, and then of Atsumu, wondering if he was able to master his new serving techniques, wondering if he got home safely.

Osamu feels Akaashi shift next to him in his sleep, ever so slightly.

  
Seconds before sleep embraces him, the last confession of the night takes root in his mind, though undeclared. _Oh_ _Keiji,_ Osamu thinks, _I think I’m starting to fall for you._

_Chapter one we didn't really get along  
Chapter two I think I fell in love with you  
You said you'd stand by me in the middle of chapter three  
But you were up to your old tricks in chapters four, five and six_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [style - taylor swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oGA3aHWBO0I&ab_channel=TaylorSwift-Topic)   
>  [so hot you're hurting my feelings (cover) - squirrel flower](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kWVtwjsAxk&ab_channel=PolyvinylRecords)   
>  [instant crush (cover) - cage the elephant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgxOtTQ84ak&ab_channel=3%3A19AM%C2%B0%E2%99%A1%E2%80%A2%E2%99%A1%C2%B0%F0%9F%A5%80)
> 
> as usual, please let me know what you think. comments really really make my day <3 happy weekend!


	5. worlds apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Akaashi We're Really In It Now dot jpeg

“Hey! I’m going out for a jog, Tsum-Tsum! Wanna come with?”

Bokuto’s already bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, decked out in his jogging getup and waiting by the entrance of their hostel. Atsumu bounds down the stairs and yawns, still dressed in his sleeping clothes.

“Gimme a minute, Bokkun. But yeah, sure.”

It’s their last day in Hyogo, before they have to head to Tokyo on a night train for the final game in a day. Coach Samson and Meian had given them a free morning as a treat for winning the Division 1 semifinals the day before. Most of them used it to sleep in (like Atsumu), but Bokuto – the perennial early bird – was up at dawn, raring to go.

“You two… get some damn rest, please!” Meain scolds them from the common area, exasperated. He’s seated on the couch on his laptop. It jolts both of the younger players.

“We won’t push ourselves, Cap! Promise!” Bokuto swears, crossing his heart with a comically serious expression. “I just gotta keep it movin’!”

“C’mon, Meian,” Atsumu chuckles. Meian sighs in surrender and turns back to his laptop.

Atsumu is familiar enough with the area that he leads his morning jogging partner down a quieter street lined with small cafes and used clothing stores. It’s early enough that none of the establishments are open yet. Bokuto _oohs_ at the _aahs_ scenery of the unfamiliar city. The route eventually opens up to a wide park overlooking the sea, with a jogging lane. There are a few other joggers, dog walkers, and bikers zipping up and down the lane, enjoying the clear morning weather.

Their jog is relaxed, not meant to tire them out. It’s a great warm up before they have to face the day. Despite it being a free day, knowing them, Bokuto and Atsumu will probably end up at the gym anyways. But even with the anticipation of their next match hanging in the air, Atsumu definitely woke up on the right side of the bed this morning. The MSBY Black Jackals won yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that. He knows the MSBY Black Jackals will win again tomorrow. 

“Kobe is so beautiful, Tsum-Tsum! We should have matches here more often! Who do we have to talk to for that?” Bokuto jokes, taking a seat on the bench. He pours cold water from his plastic bottle over his head to cool off, and shakes it off like a dog. Atsumu shoves him playfully, and Bokuto does it again. They’re facing the blue ocean, stretching out their legs.

“It’s less than an hour from Osaka, Bokkun, you can go anytime.”

“Maybe when the season’s over! The two of us should make the trip, as tourists. Show me around!”

Atsumu smiles. That actually sounds nice. He could invite Bokuto over to his family’s home; his mother will definitely, instantly fall in love with his friend. There are a ton of new bars and clubs in the city Atsumu has been meaning to check out, and he’d definitely have more fun with the company of a friend. With how hard they constantly have to train and practice, the thought of the off-season gives him something to look forward to.

“Sounds great, Bokkun. It’s a plan,” he laughs. Atsumu turns away from the view and faces his friend. They spend the next few minutes in silence.

The ambient sounds of the ocean and the gulls serve as a relaxing background noise. So does the idle chatter from the other early birds hanging out in the park. It’s a welcome break from the sounds of rubber squeaking against the floor, of whistles, of 360 degree cheers. Atsumu loves those sounds, he basks in them, but it’s not everyday that he can take a breath.

Bokuto’s expression shifts into something pensive and muted, but it’s a bit ridiculous because of the water droplets still dripping from his hair, down his face and neck. He senses Atsumu’s gaze on him, and they turn to face each other.

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” Atsumu asks.

“You were staring!” Bokuto accuses, his mouth twisting up. “You were _staaaa-ring_ , Tsum-Tsum.”

“Ya just looked so serious all of a sudden! It was weird!”

“Oh, well. I’m just thinking, I guess!”

“About the game?” the blonde asks. If Bokuto wants to talk about some adjustments to their plays, he’s all ears.

“Y-yeah. But that’s natural. I’m thinking about all sorts of other things, too.”

Atsumu doesn’t press. They fall into silence again.

“I’ve been worried about ya, Bokkun,” the blonde finally admits quietly, shifting the tone of their conversation. “I dunno if you’ve noticed.”

“Is it because of my breakup?” the other man throws back.

Sometimes, no, most of the time, people don’t give Bokuto enough credit for how sharp he is. He’s often written off as a one-track-mind volleyball freak, a meathead. When they first started together in MSBY, that was definitely Atsumu’s first impression of him; a guy who only knew how to operate at zero or one hundred. Eat, sleep, win, repeat. Nothing in between. It got on his nerves a lot, especially during the first few months. Atsumu had praised himself on his own ability to practice self-preservation.

But to be a volleyball player, especially in the professional league, it’s not all just about being strong or athletic or competitive. The game itself is built on trust and support, on being in tune with both your teammates and your rivals. Fifty percent of it is emotion and sensitivity.

And Bokuto has to be one of the more sensitive players and people he knows. He’s developed an admirable amount of self-awareness. He wouldn’t have gotten this far without those qualities.

“Y-yeah. I was worried about how it would affect the team, an’ the games. But that was at first. I realized it wasn’t just that. I’m just worried about ya, in general, y’know? As your friend.”

“I was just fine at the games, I think,” Bokuto says defensively, but there’s no bite to it.

“But that’s precisely why I was worried. No offence, Bokkun, but you used to be kinda known for yer... emotional highs and lows, especially during games. I know you’ve grown outta that, an’ all,” Atsumu says. “I just couldn’t help but worry that you’ve been just putting on a facade.

“I think I would’ve been really fuckin’ pissed if you were off yer game,” the blonde continues. “But I think I woulda understood that more. I don’t understand how ya can just… keep goin’, and keep winnin’.”

It’s a difficult thing for Atsumu to tell his friend, and he hopes it doesn’t come across as an accusation, or a presumption. But after that night in Tokyo, with Bokuto and Akaashi hidden away in the lounge…

“Akaashi’s stopped reaching out,” Bokuto says plainly. A classic non sequitur. “We haven’t talked in, what… I think it’s been something like two weeks now.”

“Oh.”

“I know it’s not like me to be shy or scared, but I guess I’m different with him. I feel like I don’t have the right to bother him anymore, or ask him what’s up. Or if we’re good.”

At their semi-final match yesterday, Atsumu doesn’t think they interacted at all. Not even their usual hesitant, awkward wave. But Akaashi was definitely there, in the stands. He even arrived with Osamu, and the two were attached at the hip. They left together, with his brother’s arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. The blonde wonders if his friend saw it, if he knows, or if this is just him being wilfully dismissive of the fact.

“What’s stoppin’ ya?”

Bokuto’s grimaces and sighs. “I wanna be happy for him, Tsum-Tsum. Really. If he needs, no, _wants_ to be left alone then I don’t want to disrespect him like that.”

“Can ya still reach out as a friend, do you think?”

“I don’t think it matters. It’s still going to be _me_. The one person he’s trying to… forget about,” he sighs. It must hurt for him to admit that.

“Are you mad at Osamu?” Atsumu can’t help but wonder after Bokuto doesn’t bring his brother’s name up, despite it being pretty much the crux of this situation. “And it’s okay. Ye can curse him out for all I care. I’m pretty fuckin’ mad at him right now, too.”

“I dunno, to be honest with you. I don’t know how to feel.”

The blonde folds his arms across his chest and huffs. The dry air is starting to dry off their sweat. “I told him off. Told him he was an eager beaver self-seeker asshole and that he only knew how to think with his dick.”

Bokuto laughs; he’s loud and surprised. “Tsum-Tsum! You’re so harsh!”

“It’s true though! Even _I_ have the good graces an’ manners to not pull shit like that!” Atsumu grouses. 

But Bokuto doesn’t even look angry or uncomfortable talking about this, to Atsumu’s quiet surprise. He just keeps looking straight ahead, thinking.

“I can’t say I’m _happy_ about it. It makes me feel like throwing up, actually. To see Akaashi with someone new. I do my best to keep it together during our games. In fact, the games are the one place I _don’t_ have to think about it. Maybe that’s why I do so well. But if he’s happy, and having fun, I can’t find it in me to hold it against him,” Bokuto says. “I could never hate him, not in any universe.”

Atsumu nods and takes his friend’s words in. He constantly finds himself underestimating Bokuto’s maturity. All this time, he’s been fretting over insulating him. Maybe his brother was right; he _was_ trying to protect Bokuto, even when he didn’t need it. It’s shameful, frankly, how much Atsumu was caught up in constructing his own version and assessment of the situation. He was operating fueled by his own immaturity. Osamu’s words last few words to him the other night during their fight finally sink into his gut: _Maybe it’s_ you _, Atsumu, that needs to grow the fuck up._

“And I’ve been thinking,” Bokuto goes on. “Maybe Akaashi’s not in touch because he wants to tell me somethin’ too. I’m wondering if he’s telling me to move on, to stop waiting around. I wore him down, I feel. He’s letting me be free too, in his own way.”

Atsumu knows he means it. Bokuto simply doesn’t do mind games or smoke screens when it comes to his intentions. He doesn’t think his friend is capable of it.

“Maybe yer right, Bokkun. You know Keiji best.”

“Tell your brother to treat Akaashi right. He deserves the world.”

No, no, no. Atsumu is _not_ about to start openly weeping and sniffling in the middle of the street, in his hometown, no less. Not where he can be recognized. He disguises his sniveling as a sharp inhale, and takes a big gulp of the last of his water.

Akaashi used to caption his rare Instagram posts about Bokuto with _My world._ _My ace. My star._ Things were okay, until they weren’t. Atsumu’s learning that maybe that’s just fine.

“I’ll try to. I think I just need to cool off, and so does he. But I’ll tell him you said that.”

Bokuto smiles brightly, showing off all his sparkling teeth. “Thanks, Tsum-Tsum. It means a lot, really.”

“Don’t mention it, Bokkun.”

They finally get up from the bench, and keep jogging along the lane. Eventually, they make it back to the hostel in time for lunch with the whole team. On their way back, the two further their off-season agenda of taking a pleasure trip back down to Kobe for a week or so. Atsumu even starts to text his mother that in a few weeks, he’d like to take his friend around, and if it’ll be okay if the both of them stay at the house for a bit when the time comes. Bokuto is practically exploding with excitement.

* * *

The official’s whistle cuts shrilly through the tense air of the arena.

“Aaaaand it’s _in_ ! Right on the line!” the commentator declares. His full voice reverberates across every corner of the venue. “Match point, in favor of the MSBY Black Jackals! Kiyoomi Sakusa is on a _roll_ today!”

The score: 24-25, against Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets. If they win this set, they’ll be tied at 2-2.

They’re so close. They’re _so_ close, and they have a title to defend. Atsumu roars out triumphantly at the crowd, and punches Omi passionately for getting the point in. The raven haired man throws his fist in the air and cheers, too.

The setter’s legs are about to give out, but he slams his fists against his thighs in retaliation against his body, willing for it to keep up in this crucial moment.

Bokuto’s heaving behind him, exhausted after that lengthy rally. All of them are, but the electricity and hunger runs through their veins. He hastily wipes the sweat off his brow and slaps his cheeks between his palms.

Meian is serving, and everything is working in their favor. The whistle rings out, and as usual, the MSBY captain waits until the very last millisecond to throw off the Green Rockets.

“Nice serve!” Hinata hollers.

“C’mon, Meian!”

“Meian Shugo with the serve! It’s his signature jump floater!”

The crowd holds their collective breath as the ball flies over to the other side of the net, looking like it’s travelling at the speed of light. The team realigns themselves, resetting their stances in anticipation. Meian had aimed the ball in a tricky position, almost all the way to the back line. But the Green Rockets didn’t make it this far to just let it fall. Kiryu dives in and saves the ball, sending it flying.

“Chance ball, c’mon!” he yells.

“Mine, mine!” calls Goshiki.

The ravenette gets there in time, and sends it towards their setter. The setter throws the ball into the air, high and slow, to buy them time to reassess the situation. Goshiki backs up. Sokolov slides to the side. Kiryu takes a stride forward. And then they all jump for it.

The ball crashes through Tomas’ and Meian’s iron wall, and the crowd erupts. The commentators are on their feet – but it’s not over just yet.

“Inunaki!’ they both yell. He’s already on it, receiving the ball cleanly. The ball is in the airborne again.

“Shoyo-kun! All yours!’

Atsumu gulps; it’s now or never. The ball’s quite literally in their court, they just need the guts to pull this off to tie the game. MSBY’s almost running on fumes, but they’ll be damned if they just allow the Green Rockets to take this from them.

Inunaki to Hinata. Then to Bokuto. Then to Omi. He slips up a bit, and the ball’s trajectory is off. It falls to the other side of the net unfortunately, and one of the other team’s outside hitters sends it right back to the Jackals’ side.

“Up front, up front!”

“Who will it be?” the commentator clamors. Who will it be, indeed.

Back on the MSBY side, the ball is in an awkward, tight spot. It’s heading towards Meian, but he’s not in the right position to send it back just yet. So he backs himself into the corner to receive, and in a rush of pure athleticism, he headbuts it and sends it to Atsumu, the ever reliable one. He understands Meian immediately. The unconventional pass is beautiful.

“Atsumu!’ Meian yells as the ball is airborne once again. “Go get ‘em!”

“Ya got it!”

This position, this timing, this angle. It’s perfect!

Atsumu astutely surveys his players. Their captain and Hinata are by the back, but they’re already running forward. Tomas is to his side, and so is Omi. Then he and Bokuto, who’s standing alertly before him, lock eyes.

_Mine,_ his friend’s golden, hungry eyes almost scream. _Give it to me._ And Atsumu’s not one to deny him the request.

The blonde tosses the ball in the air, and Bokuto is already in the air with the widest smile. His strong arm is wound back, ready to slam forward at the right moment. Atsumu almost finds himself laughing in delight; the Green Rockets don’t stand a chance against this one.

In fact, their blockers are already in disarray, messily positioning themselves in preparation for the onslaught of Bokuto Koutarou’s killer spike. He truly looks best when he’s at the summit.

“MSBY’s number twelve closing in on the Green Rockets with a spike! They better prepare for this one!”

As the ball aligns with Bokuto’s broad palm, Atsumu spots Akaashi in the stands gripping the railing, unable to unglue his eyes from the rally. He’s holding his breath. _Come watch your ace!_ the blonde wants to cry out.

Then it happens in slow motion:

The spike goes through – of course it does – slamming against the court on the other side. The crowd, the commentators, everyone – they cry out in amazement.

The split second before the referee’s whistle feels like an eternity. He motions the flag downwards, making it official. Everyone erupts in shouts and cries yet again.

“The MSBY Black Jackals take home this crucial set, tying the game at 2-2! What an incredible offensive spike from their number twelve, self proclaimed ace Bokuto Koutarou!”

“Hell yes!”

“Bokutooooo!”

Then Bokuto cries out, but not in excitement or triumph. His wail is pained, and there are fat tears running down his face. He’s on the ground, clutching his right foot, which is twisted in a direction a right foot should _not_ be twisted. 

Suddenly everyone in the arena is frozen and hushed.

Atsumu reflectively turns his head away, squeamish, but then snaps out of it.

The whole MSBY team and Coach Samson rush towards their ace in a desperate frenzy. The game pauses, and the crowd in the stands are in disbelief. But the players tune it out.

“Bokuto!” Atsumu cries out, kneeling by his friend’s side. “Fuck, _fuck_ , Bokkun!”

“Kou!”

“Bokuto!”

Everyone’s voices blend together.

“Medical! We need Medical over here!” Meian yells out over his shoulder to nobody in particular. The venue officials scramble. Coach Samson is trying to get Bokuto to drink water.

The whole team huddles around him on the ground. Hinata and Tomas are in tears. Omi is shell shocked and steadies himself against the pole of the net. The rest of them are shouting and fussing.

“Don’t crowd, he needs space, don’t crowd,” Coach says, struggling to remain calm. “He needs as much space as he can get, you might hurt him!”

“I-I think, on my way down,” Bokuto grits out in pain, looking up at the ceiling and away from his foot. “I didn’t land p-properly. _Fuck._ It’s brok–”

“Shh, Koutarou, just drink–”

“Bokuto-san!” a familiar voice pierces through the commotion from behind.

They see Akaashi Keiji run towards the court, forcefully shaking off the venue and game officials who try to hold him back. He almost trips over himself. Only designated people are allowed this close; to them, Akaashi is just a rando from the stands. His glasses are askew, sweat and tears are running down his face. He’s even left his bag in his seat. His expression is many things at once: dire, frightened, stunned.

In an uncharacteristic lack of grace, Akaashi curses as he stumbles forward and lands on his hands on knees on the court, next to Bokuto. His glasses fall off his face and skid across the floor to their side. For a short moment, he’s speechless.

“Bokuto-san!” he cries out again. His voice is raw and shaky, and his dark eyes dart everywhere, taking it in. When he sees his ex-lover’s twisted foot up close, he starts to sob. The venue officials try to pull Akaashi away one more time, berating him, but Atsumu finds his voice again.

“No, no!” he shouts, pushing the officials away. “We know him, dammit!” They eventually relent.

“Keiji,” Bokuto weeps, reaching for him. He grimaces in pain. “You’re here. I-I’m–”

Akaashi can’t bring himself to speak full sentences between his ugly sobs. He doesn’t even know where to put his hands.

“I’m s-sorry Keiji,” Bokuto continues, squeezing his eyes shut. “You shouldn’t be–”

“No, Bokuto-san, I’m here, I’m here.”

“I _said_ , we need goddamn Medical!” Meian all but screams again, as he continues to prop the ace up.

The Green Rockets watch from afar in genuine concern. The commentator does his best to soothe the worried crowd over the ill-fitting upbeat canned music.

Atsumu can only watch from a few feet away in choked up shock. He watches as Akaashi kneels down next to him with a pained, harsh expression, as if he were the one with the broken ankle. His hands shake where they’re wrapped around Bokuto’s arm for stability. Both of them are openly sobbing.

The medical team finally, _finally_ arrives with a stretcher in tow. When they try to lift the man up to situate him in a comfortable position, he only yelps out in more pain. Hinata and Omi have to hold an overwhelmed Akaashi steady to keep the man from fainting.

“Bokuto…” Akaashi continues to waver.

“They’re gonna take care of him now Akaashi-san,” Hinata says, trying to sooth the man, even if he can’t hold back his own tears.

There are nurses holding Bokuto’s leg and foot to keep it steady. Atsumu can barely see Bokuto’s body anymore with how many people are crowding around trying to keep things at bay.

“We’ll win this one for ya, Bokkun!” Atsumu cries, hoping his teammate is present enough to hear him and understand him. Tears have begun to fall down his own face. “We’ll do it!”

The rest of the MSBY Black Jackals all agree in unison. Apparently the crowd hears his declaration, and they cheer.

And so he’s carried off by the nurses and is sent off to the emergency room. Bokuto’s long since passed out, crashing from the adrenaline, distress, and pain. Before they know it, he’s gone into the back.

Coach Samson allows Akaashi to sit by them, and offers him one of the unused thermoses of water and a clean towel to help calm him. He takes the items gratefully and sits down, continuing to weep quietly into his hands.

Atsumu spots Akaashi’s glasses still sitting on the floor. He picks them up and walks up to the other man. Kneeling down so they’re at eye level, the blonde hands the owner back his frames. The shorter man takes it gratefully, putting them back on while still wiping his eyes..

“Keiji. Bokkun is gonna be jus’ fine,” he tries to say convincingly. It’s for himself too. “He’s gonna be okay, he’s our ace. This is nothin’ to him. I swear on it.”

“I saw it happen from afar, i-it was so horrible, he–”

The blonde places his hands on Akaashi’s knees. “I know. But he’ll pull through. We’ll win for ‘im. Just sit tight, ‘kay?”

Just on cue, the official’s whistle sounds, indicating that they have to get on with it. The sport can be cruel sometimes. But injuries are nothing special, they can happen all the time to anybody. Even the best players. Bokuto’s just unlucky, and the MSBY Black Jackals have no choice but to pick themselves back up. It’s no reason at all to suspend the game for longer than absolutely necessary.

“Go win,” Akaashi sniffles. “Please, go win.”

It’s the last set of the whole season. Atsumu clenches his fists.

“Count on it, Keiji.”

Barnes subs in for Bokuto. It’s not like they’re at a loss for perfectly capable players, thankfully, but they all know that’s not the issue at hand. The players all head back towards the court, swallowing down unnecessary emotions and tears even if they’re all clearly shaken up. It’ll only blur their vision.

“And we’re back, in the third and final set!” the commentator announces as the music dies down. “The sets are currently tied at 2-2, with the MSBY Black Jackals taking the previous set in this final match of the whole season. Their ace, number twelve Bokuto Koutarou is unfortunately out for the rest of the match due to an injury. So it’s anybody’s game now, folks! Will the Jackals be able to extend their two year long reign as Division 1 champions, or will the Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets take it for themselves?!”

“Let’s go!” Atsumu shouts, fiery.

His teammates echo him, even twice as heated.  
  
“Last set, last set!” yells Meian.

“C’mon, let’s take it home!”

“Yeah!”

“For our ace!”

The Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets steady themselves for Omi’s serve. Atsumu knows they’ll give it their absolute all, and will fight them to the death for this last set. It’s an unspoken sign of respect for the game and their injured teammate; anything less than an actual challenge is an insult. As it should be.

They don’t want it to be handed over. The MSBY Black Jackals want to take it.

Omi hits the ball from high up in the air, and Atsumu watches it cut through the air in an elegant but deadly path towards the other side.

And then everyone starts running for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry? lol. so fair warning i know this story is tagged with "angst with a happy ending", but i feel that it's not really accurate. don't worry, nobody dies or severely suffers, but i guess it really depends how you look at it! i quite like how it ends :)
> 
> i've been building up to bokuto getting injured, ie not being able to break his fall, for a few chapters now (especially in the last chapter), and it was very satisfying to write
> 
> [nobody's diary - yazoo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qq7jTPkjVg&ab_channel=Yazoo%2FYaz-Official)  
> [the whole of the moon (cover) - fiona apple](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=89DxrWX1v3w&ab_channel=AlbertoMartinez) (again, because i think it's fitting + this is one of my favorite covers of the song)  
> [separate ways (worlds apart) - journey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UfJQ6yveYH0&ab_channel=yone1968)
> 
> if it's not obvious... i fucking love 80s rock/synthpop LMAO. comments are love, let me know your reactions. they make my day!


	6. a case of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i did like 2 seconds of research on ankle injuries so let's just pretend this is all realistic

Atsumu crumples and falls to his knees onto the court after the last whistle. The tears leak out of his tired eyes, down his face. The ball sits motionless next to him.

“And there we have it!” the commentator whoops, pointing to the court animatedly. “The Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets take home the title of Division 1 Champions, stealing it away from the MSBY Black Jackals! What a gaaaaame!”

The final score: 16-25. Atsumu glances at the scoreboard and upon seeing the large gap – it stings. 

The MSBY players all fall against the ground in defeat, reality sinking in. Their fans are still cheering them on, congratulating them on a well-fought game and a well-defended title. Well, until the very last few minutes, that is.

Shame and frustration grip Atsumu’s heart. He tucks his chin closer to his chest, refusing to face anybody. Hell, how can they face Bokuto now after they promised so confidently they’d win? He’d rather they boo the team rather than try to cheer them up from such a crushing loss. A humiliating loss.

They were careless; the little slip ups, sloppy missteps… they built up. It was a close enough game all the way until the halfway point, at least, with MSBY putting everything they had into it. But the physical and mental exhaustion inevitably took over, throwing them all into a panicked frenzy.

Atsumu and his team couldn’t keep it together. It was plain as day, and there were no other explanations for it: not their strategy, or their lineup, or their losing rotation. He doesn’t think there was anything they could’ve actually done.

He knows nobody is to blame. Volleyball isn’t a game that’s hinged on individual mistakes or shortcomings. The success of an action is always dependent on the last one, and not necessarily how good it was executed in that single, isolated moment. Serves, passes, sets, spikes… none of them exist in a vacuum.

“Come on, everyone,” Meian says with a shaky voice. Atsumu can’t imagine what _he’s_ feeling. He watched his team crumble before his eyes, he watched their errors snowball down the hill. “We have to stand up for the closing ceremonies.”

Atsumu can’t yet. He stays planted in place, palms and knees pressing against the floor. In his head, he’s trying to wrap his head around it. All of them had been well aware they weren’t exactly entering this last set with the best mindset. That was a given. But where did they go wrong? When did it start to unravel? 

If he had just tried a different serve…

If only Hinata were just a few more inches to the right in that moment.

If only Omi and Barnes hadn’t crashed into each other and actually called out to claim the recieve.

If only Meian hadn’t miscalled that ball.

If only Bokuto hadn’t…

The blonde wills himself to stop thinking, refusing to down that train of thought. _Volleyball isn’t a game that’s hinged on individual mistakes or shortcomings._ It was nobody’s fault, but fuck. Maybe that just means it was everyone’s fault. 

Meian is standing in front of him, leaning down.

“Miya, let’s go,” he says more gently. “They’re waiting.”

Atsumu looks up for the first time since the game was called. All his teammates are more or less on their feet, but still looking down at their feet in disappointment.

“Okay, Cap,” he chokes out.

When he gets up, the crowd cheers again.

They each shake hands with all the members of the Green Rockets. At the end of the day, they deserved the win; that’s just the way the cookie crumbles.

* * *

After his shower, Atsumu hangs around for a bit more by himself, pacing up and down the empty hallway. He spots a decent enough vending machine, gets some green tea, and takes a seat on a nearby plastic bench.

The team is sober and went through the motions of the press conference post-game. Not even the Coach faults them for their straightforward answers and somber demeanors. Most of the MSBY players are good with the press and winsome to a fault, even after strenuous games. But after this one in particular, all they wanted to do was get it over with.

Of course, most of the questions are about their number twelve. Yes, he’s in the emergency room at so-and-so hospital. Yes, he’s being taken care of as we speak, and last they heard, he's conscious. No, he’s not ready to give his comment yet. Yes, the MSBY Black Jackals management will be releasing an official statement as soon as possible. The players are thankful for Coach Samson for shutting down speculations about Bokuto’s broken ankle being a career ending injury.

But despite this, Atsumu is sure that by tomorrow – no, even by this evening – there will already be a wealth of clickbaity articles by a bunch of go-getter sports journalists. They’ll sensationalize this to the ground with bold headlines like: _The MSBY Black Jackals’ fall from grace: a timeline_ , or _The fallen star: Bokuto Koutarou’s injury that cost the Jackals the championship_.

Fuck.

They’re all to head to the emergency room that Bokuto was sent to after they all get their bearings. Meian is just doing his last once-over of their designated locker room and thanking the officials that took care of them. Atsumu uses the time to keep to himself. He’s not really in the mood.

His phone beeps in his pocket. It’s from Osamu.

_Tsumu, I’m sorry about what happened with Koutarou, and with the results of the game_ , he writes. _The booth’s all packed up, so I can head to the hospital myself. I heard everyone was making their way there, with Keiji. See ya._

It’s the first time they’ve touched base since their scuffle in Hyogo. 

_And who invited you?_ Atsumu types out reflexively, but decides to just let it go. He doesn’t have the energy for another argument.

_Don’t think they’ll let ya in the actual room so just wait by the lounge_ , the blonde replies instead.

_Got it_ , his twin immediately replies.

Atsumu takes a long sip of his green tea, trying to calm himself. A broken ankle isn’t a death sentence for a volleyball player. In fact, ankle and foot injuries are commonplace; it’s nothing that rest and physical therapy can’t fix. In fact, Meian had sustained a broken foot before and recovered just fine. He had told them that there was no need to worry at all – it was Bokuto they were talking about, after all.

But still, it’s hard to shake off the imagery of your friend crumpled on the ground like that. 

The door of a room down the hallway opens, and Coach Samson walks out, pocketing his phone. Meian and Akaashi trail behind him, with the latter’s face still twisted up in distress. 

“Call your teammates, Miya,” Coach tells him. “They should be ready by now. Bokuto just got out of surgery so we should start making tracks.”

Wait, _surgery_?

“He tore a tendon in his foot,” Meian supplies immediately. “Aside from breaking the ankle, I mean. But it’s still nothing to be worried about, Atsumu. It was a routine procedure for this kind of injury.”

“And I talked to him, he’s awake,” Akaashi says quietly.

But Atsumu doesn’t hear. He’s already rushing down the hallway towards their locker room to round up everyone.

* * *

  
  


Everyone is in tears as they crowd into the small private room. The nurses are a bit frazzled, so the team makes the valiant effort to quiet down and behave themselves. Nobody knows how, but the room is already filled with bouquets of flowers, balloons, and ‘get well soon’ cards when they arrive. But no official statement or announcement has been made so...

“I may have tweeted about it already, sorry about that,” Bokuto apologizes bashfully as he sees their faces take in the state of the room, but he doesn’t really look remorseful. Knowing him, he’s basking in the love and attention. Atsumu checks his timeline and yup. It’s in the tens of thousands of retweets already. He adds one more to it.

But it’s whatever. They’re all fussing over him like hens, even as the Coach tries to pull them away from the bed (it’s a futile effort). Meian acts like a concerned father, and interrogates the attending nurse about the severity of the injury, and about the surgery. He even has a little notepad out to jot down everything she’s saying.

“You guys,” Bokuto laughs in disbelief at the chatter. He has his own tears still pooling in his eyes. His right foot is outfitted with a heavy duty splint and is elevated off the bed. It’s wrapped in what looks like a hundred layers of medical bandages, but at least it’s facing the correct way now.

Akaashi stands in silence by the door, looking unsure whether or not he should come closer. His fingers are wrung together in front of him. It’s a stark contrast to how he was shoving the venue officials away with no disregard for courtesy or decorum. That was a desperate Akaashi, one that was blinded by worry. But the Akaashi standing by the door like an uncomfortable statue… Atsumu knows that the tunnel vision has worn off and he’s back to reality, at the mercy of his own sense of propriety and restraint. His fatal flaws.

Bokuto spots him and his eyes widen, but he’s cut off before he can say anything.

“Bokuto-san, we lost,” Hinata cries, probably the first one to break the news to their injured teammate. “I know we p-promised not to, but we–”

The redhead starts to openly cry again, triggering everyone’s weeping. The younger players who have never sustained a major injury yet, good for them, are clearly shaken up from everything.

“We’re so sorry, Bokuto.”

“The Green Rockets, they–”

“We messed up!”

“We couldn’t keep up–”

“You guys,” their injured player repeats, but more seriously. Everyone in the room quiets down to let him speak. “It’s not the end of the world. There’s the next game, and the next. And when we win, I want us to be complete.”

“Bokuto’s right,” Meian speaks up. He’s standing right beside the headboard. “Today we took a painful loss. But that’s all it is: a loss. It’s not the end as long as you don’t allow it to be.”

Atsumu clears his throat. It’s his first time speaking since they spilled into the room. “We did what we could with what we had. I was ashamed awhile ago. But not anymore.”

His words hang in the air, and everyone nods.

“We love you, Bokkun,” he continues. “We all do. I’m so fuckin’ _happy_ you’ll be just fine.”

  
  


* * *

They’re only allowed a few more minutes as a group in Bokuto’s room before the nurses ask them to disperse for the night. Coach Samson ushers everyone out, herding his worn out team down the hall and into the entrance lobby, where their bus is already waiting to shuttle them back to the hostel. He also decides to postpone their final postmortem of the season, to everyone’s relief.

Pictures are posted on both Twitter and Instagram, and ‘MSBY’ trends. Then they’re reminded for the nth time that an official statement. Is. Not. Out. Yet. But nobody deletes their posts anyways, too elated to be reunited with Bokuto (even in these less than ideal circumstances).

Atsumu convinces Meian, who then convinces Coach, to let him stay behind to keep Bokuto company through the night. He doesn’t feel right about just leaving his friend alone after everything today. They allow him, on the condition that he’ll be at their hostel the next day at noon sharp to catch their bus back to Osaka. Unfortunately Bokuto has to stay behind a bit longer in the Tokyo hospital, but he waves it off and swears he’ll be fine. 

Akaashi also decides to stick around for a bit more, and finally finds it in him to take a seat next to the bed when everyone is mostly gone. Atsumu gives them their much needed privacy and steps out, on the hunt for dinner. In the flurry of the day’s events, and it’s been a damn _long_ day, he realizes he hasn’t eaten a proper dinner, and probably neither has Akaashi. His stomach growls in agreement.

He walks down the hallway into the small wing lobby to ask the nurses for a takeout place they recommend in the area. He could hit up a convenience store but decides they deserve a better, fuller meal. Then he spots his twin brother on the couches, with a large insulated bag beside him. Oh right.

“Hey,” the blonde calls out, half jogging towards Osamu.

The darker haired man twists around and waves lazily. “Hey. Figured you’d be hungry, so I left ya some.” He gestures to the bag.

They’re still a bit awkward, but of course Atsumu is grateful.

“Is Keiji here? He hasn’t replied to my messages this whole evening.” Osamu asks casually.

“Yeah, he’s up in the room with Bokkun.”

“I see.”

Atsumu takes the bag, and the bottom is still warm. It’s still heavy with the onigiri – just how many did his brother set aside for them?

“Samu, this is way too much,” he says. “Ya sure ya don’t want me to pay fer it? I won’t make it weird, promise.”

Osamu shakes his head with a small smile, pushing the bag deeper into Atsumu’s arms. “Business has been good at the games, Tsumu. ‘Sides. You deserve it. Share some with Keiji too, Lord knows he hasn’t had a bite to eat all afternoon and evening.”

“Thanks again,” Atsumu says.

“Jus’ one favor? Can ya bring the bag back to me when yer done? I’ll wait. I’m hopin to catch a night bus later back home in time for the main branch’s openin’ tomorrow,” his twin requests.

“Jeez, ya never rest do ya? But yeah. Just gimme a bit.”

The door to Bokuto’s private room is shut when Atsumu gets back, but there’s a tiny window to the side. It’s only Bokuto and Akaashi in there, so it’s not like he just wants to barge in like an asshole. He slides over to peek in the window and raises his fist to knock on the glass.

Between the slats of the flimsy window shade, he spots their silhouettes. The lighting is a bit bad, with the bulbs in the room dimmed to their lowest setting, but it’s enough to make up their positions. Akaashi is still sitting at Bokuto’s bedside, but he’s much closer.

Then Atsumu sees the dark haired man lean into his ex-lover. They kiss. They definitely kiss. Atsumu looks away for a few seconds on instinct, but also in disbelief. When he turns his head back to peer at them, they’re still kissing, and Bokuto’s large hands are pulling Akaashi closer.

Atsumu forgets the large bag of onigiri in his arms, and almost drops it.

* * *

“Koutarou,” Akaashi whispers, breaking their tender kiss.

“Keiji…”

“I– I think I made a mistake.”

Bokuto is silent. Their hands are clasped together on the bed. Akaashi’s own shake very slightly. The pauses in between their words are pregnant, as wide as the ocean. For the first time in his life with Bokuto, the darker haired man struggles to find the right way to say what he’s about to say.

“You kissed me,” the injured Bokuto says. “Did you… mean to do that?”

“No,” Akaashi says immediately. “No, no, I mean y-yes. I did mean to kiss you. That’s not what I meant by my mistake.”

“Then do you mean–”

“It was a mistake to leave you. It was a mistake for us to be apart,” he says, with his voice shaking. A declaration, months in the making. The words land not like a wrecking ball, but like a paper airplane softly making contact with the floor. “When I saw you take your fall, I saw your foot twist and break. Kou, it was so _goddamn horrible_.”

“Shh, shh, Keiji,” Bokuto mutters, leaning over to kiss Akaahi’s sweaty forehead. “I’m okay now, look.”

“That’s not the point,” the other man chokes, his voice breaking. “That’s not the point, Kou. I ran all the way down to the court because I realized couldn’t _not_ do that. I’m pretty sure I got myself banned from the venue.”

“I know, Keiji, I saw them try to pull you off of me. I’m sorry I made you so upset, and worried… I…”

“I didn’t even think twice about it. Then when they began to pull you away, I… I realized something,” Akaashi states. He starts to cry again, and Bokuto unravels his hand from where they’re clasped together to tenderly wipe away the other man’s tears. 

“There’s no one else in the world I’d do that for. Nobody else in the world that I’d run for like that, that I’d forget myself like that for.”

Bokuto doesn’t say a word. Akaashi’s nervous breathing and sniffling is a loud sound in the still, dim hospital room. The man on the bed bites his lips and looks down. 

“What about what you said? Before, when you said you needed to be by yourself?” Bokuto asks, still trying to take the other man’s words in. “You said you were so stressed and overwhelmed by this. By me.”

“I don’t have all the answers…” Akaashi admits, chuckling a bit dejectedly. “But when they rushed you off to the hospital, I thought about what I would’ve done if it had been worse. Or if I hadn’t been there. And if I’d have no choice but to find out online or from the news. I would’ve never forgiven myself.

“What I’m saying, Kou, is… these past few months, I felt like I was missing a limb. I could go on with my life, go to work, take the train. But, barely. The hole in my heart, no matter what I tried to do to distract myself, it was too big to bear.”

Akaashi takes a deep breath, and presses his forehead against their clasped hands. It’s a bow, to humble himself, to apologize. He asks for forgiveness and understanding.

“I wasn’t growing. I wasn’t becoming a better person. I had some moments of reprieve. But everything in between was me just missing you, thinking about you. Wondering who you were with. Wondering if _you_ were growing, and becoming a better person. You were doing so well at your games, and I thought, ‘Ah, he’ll do fine without me’.”

“I wasn’t, though. Each game just felt like I was being wound tighter and tighter, I was pushing myself so much, so much that–”

“–that you fell,” Akaashi utters, completing the thought. So this was the culmination; both of them were hurting in their own, personal ways.

  
  


“But Keiji…” Bokuto chokes out, hips lower lip wobbling. “Is it wrong to say that I still don’t regret it though? Leaving you?”

“I don’t regret it either. I’m not sorry. Even if it was horrible.”

“You’re dreadful, Keiji,” Bokuto laughs wetly. “I love you.”

Akaashi looks back up, raising his head. “I need us to shout sometimes, Kou. I’m done chasing after you all the time.”

“And I don’t think you should. I think I let you because I thought that made you happy. I should’ve known, and I’m so, _so_ sorry Keiji. We were barely in the same place at the same time so when we _did_ see each other, I never wanted to bring anything negative up or put us in a bad mood. I was wrong, but you need to tell me when something is up, too. You need to refuse me, you need to get angry at me when I forget things, when I fuck up. You can’t always just take it.”

The darker haired man smiles tartly, but he knows that Bokuto is right.

“I’m not a selfish person, Koutarou. I hardly ask for much, you _know_ that. I didn’t even fight you when you said you had to move to Osaka for your contract, even if it meant that–”

“I remember that, and I wish you–”

“And this is me, I'm allowing myself to be selfish just this once in my life,” Akaashi interrupts, finally looking up. His eyes are clear. “Let me be there to see you grow. I want to be by your side for it. Again, if you’ll let me.”

They’re both openly crying now, holding each others’ faces in their hands. Bokuto’s position is a bit awkward; he has to twist his body to keep his elevated foot steady, but he hardly feels the discomfort when the love of his life is here beside him. Akaashi is guarded and staid to a fault, always frustratingly careful with his words and actions. But right now, all of that washes away like nothing more than a light sheen of sweat. It puddles on the ground around them, already evaporating. The bricks of dull resentment that had built up between them over these last few years also start to come tumbling down. Bokuto recognizes a new man in front of him, or at least a man trying to be one.

“I would love for you to be selfish, my Keiji,” Bokuto breathes out. “You need it.”

“Oh, Kou… I–”

Akaashi is swiftly interrupted by Bokuto kissing him. And again, and again, and again.

* * *

They eventually have to part so the nurses can check up on Bokuto, to see if his foot brace is still properly in place. Akaashi is tomato red when they knock and peek in, so he leaves the room for a bit to give them space to do their thing.

Atsumu is sitting on the metal bench against the exterior wall of Bokuto’s room. The insulated bag still sits next to him, and he’s slowly picking at an onigiri in his hands. But he’s long since lost his appetite.

“Miya-san,” Akaashi says tentatively upon spotting him. He sits next to him on the bench leaving a few spaces between them. “You’re still here?”

The blonde takes the bag and opens it for the man beside him. “Yeah, I volunteered to stay the night to keep Bokkun company,” he says somberly. “Here. From my brother, take as many as ya want.”

Thankfully, it’s still a bit warm.

Atsumu wonders if his brother is still waiting in the lobby. He hasn’t checked his phone at all these past minutes after putting it on silent mode. He needed the time to think.

“Ah, thank you. I completely forgot about dinner,” Akaashi says as he takes a big bite. He groans in bliss, closing his eyes.

“Will ya be the one to tell him, or will I.” Atsumu means for it to come out as a question, but his tone falls flat. He’s sure Akaashi senses it, and knows what he’s trying to say. The other man turns away in chagrin.

Atsumu saw enough through the window. He didn’t watch them for an extended period – he’s not a _creep_ – but he knows a reconciliation when he sees it.

“... I will, Miya-san,” Akaashi mumbles. “It’s best if it comes from me.”

“Didn’t I tell ya? You can call me Atsumu.”

“Atsumu-san, then. I’m sorry.”

He faces Akaashi. “Fer callin’ me Miya? It’s cool.”

“N-no. I… apologize for getting everyone caught up in this. Even you got pulled in. Also for… erm. Causing that scene awhile ago.”

The volleyball player chuckles, but there’s no humor to it. He thinks about Osamu, probably still waiting in the lobby, wondering where the hell his bag is, probably blowing up Atsumu’s phone. Probably blowing up Akaashi’s phone. “We gotta do the things we gotta do sometimes, Keiji,” he says cryptically. He stands up and hoists the bag over his shoulder. “Well, I have to return this now. I’ll be back.”

Before Akaashi can protest or realize who he’s returning it to, Atsumu is already past the nurses’ desk and turning into the lobby.

Despite these turbulent few weeks, he still feels sorry for his brother. Akaashi said he’ll be the one to break it off with his… special friend-slash-fuck buddy-slash-not boyfriend (even Atsumu isn’t exactly sure what they are). And he doesn’t doubt that. But whatever is between Akaashi and Osamu is their business. Whatever is between Atsumu and Osamu is a parallel issue but still different, he figures.

He may never stop judging his twin for what he _still_ thinks was a series of self-centered faults, but fuck. Osamu doesn’t deserve this, and Atsumu feels a rare spark of genuine commiseration.

His brother is indeed still waiting, standing up and pacing around, with his phone to his ear. He looks incredibly annoyed.

“What the actual _fuck_ , Tsumu? Didya just conveniently forget what I told ya, to disappear off the face of the planet? I have a bus to catch!” Osamu seethes, immediately grabbing the bag from his twin.

“Hey, uh. I think they’re back together.”

“What?”

“Keiji and Bokkun, they– I saw ‘em kissing.”

Osamu steps back. They look at each other for a few, long seconds. Atsumu’s countenance is blank, and tired. He silently wills his brother to say something, anything.

“Why are ya tellin’ me this?” the darker haired twin finally spits out.

“I-I. I just thought you’d like to know. Keiji’s gonna tell ya himself but I thought I’d lessen the blow a bit…”

Osamu laughs darkly. His lip curls up. “What? Tsumu, fast trackin’ the information does nothing to ‘lessen the blow’. It’s still the same. Yer a fuckin’ _idiot_.”

The insult is one he’s heard a million and one times before from his brother, but this time, it cuts into him. They’re both still raw and hurting from their quarrel, unsure of their footing, and unsure of the lines they’re not meant to cross. Atsumu wants to say sorry, but he doesn’t think he’s ever said those words to his brother, at least not in his recent memory.

_This is just the way you two are_ , he tries to convince himself to not let the guilt creep in. Hell, since when has he started feeling guilty about this, about them hurting each others’ feelings? They always just sleep on it, brush it off and get on with their lives, issuing each other unspoken apologies that are always understood and accepted anyways.

But this time feels different. Atsumu looks up at Osamu, and he sees his upset, weary expression. Atsumu looks up and sees himself.

“I’m _sorry_ , okay? This is me tryin’ to fucking apologize, because I actually feel bad for ya–”

“You’d have to be an idiot to not know, Tsumu. To not read the situation. Not after the scene they made a while ago. Keiji looked unhinged – I saw ‘em from the booth,” Osamu explains. “After that, you’d have to be a goddamn idiot to not realize what was comin’ next.”

Atsumu tries to catch up with his brother, who’s already started to walk away. No, their conversation is decidedly not over yet. “Wait, so yer okay with this? Yer just gonna accept it?”

Osamu stops in his tracks and sighs. He looks up into the clear night sky. It reminds him of the sky that one night that Keiji surprised him in Hyogo, when they both spent the night in Osamu’s apartment.

It feels like so long ago, but he’ll always remember it. That’s the night that he realized that his feelings for Keiji were growing.

“I’m _not_ okay, Tsumu. Of course it hurts. I’m not the cold-blooded asshole you’ve made me out to be, ya know.”

The blonde, always impatient and unsatisfied with his brother’s half answers steps up and grabs him by the shoulder to stop him. “And yer just gonna twiddle yer thumbs pathetically? Here’s an opportunity fer ya to–”

“Get off me,” Osamu grits out, shoving Atsumu’s hand away. “Let me finish for once. I was ready to take the plunge, to tell Keiji I wanted to be more, I dunno, _serious._ Everything was so easy with him, so I started to fall for ‘im. I really like him, Tsumu, I realized that lately.”

“Then tell him that, dammit!” Atsumu fumes.

“You don’t understand, do ya? Not a word of what I’m tryin’ to tell ya!”

“But–”

“But! I’m not about to go pull some rom-com shit, or whatever idea you have in yer head, okay?! _I’m not a fuckin’ opportunist_!” Osamu finally shouts, boiling over. “This is me lettin’ him do what he needs!”

The rest of what Atsumu wants to say rapidly dies in his throat. He pulls away and steps back. They’ve already started to cause a little scene, with some onlookers watching them wearily. Great. Some things never really change. It’s just that Kita or Aran aren’t there to pull them apart anymore. He wonders what they’d say if he saw them right now.

“I don’t know what ya want from me, Atsumu,” Osamu continues, more quietly so only they can hear. He grips the strap of the bag tightly, and the blonde can see his knuckles turn white. Tears prickle in his eyes and his voice wavers. “I really don’t. First ya want me to stay away from Keiji like the plague, but now you want me to fight to be with ‘im.”

The man turns and walks away. His posture is a clear sign: _Don’t follow me._ So Atsumu doesn’t. He’s left standing by the hospital entrance, as their onlookers lose interest in their squabble and move on with their lives.

In the stillness of the night, Atsumu realizes two things:

First, he may have unconsciously, irreversibly destroyed his brother’s relationship with Keiji by trying to get ahead of the situation, by selfishly taking it into his own hands. Any hope for them to maybe part ways calmly and civilly could be off the table because of his own stupidity. His own immaturity. He prays that isn’t the case.

Second, he may have also unconsciously destroyed his relationship with his brother. Atsumu has no excuse for that one. Regret begins to fill his lungs like a poison. So he prays even harder.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think akaashi's mindset of thinking that being "selfish" (ie living for himself) and being by bokuto's side are two mutually exclusive things becomes his downfall. him wanting to separate himself from such a vital relationship was somehow an act of (unconscious) self-exile and self-punishment for realizing he was capable of resenting his partner like that. but then he was even unhappier by himself for some reason, and he realizes this. i mean a lot of it is him being shaken up & emotional from seeing bokuto injured, but this incident did make it click for him. he needs to accept that he can have both things, and wanting to be with bokuto isn't a sign of regression or dependence. well i don't want to overexplain my own fic with meta but i just have LOTS OF THOUGHTS ABOUT AKAASHI.... he's my favorite
> 
> i honestly had a very hard time writing and editing this chapter, so i hope it still meets all your expectations. but things won't be bad forever! thanks for sticking with the story this far :)
> 
> [a case of you - joni mitchell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tI1_KlO6xI&ab_channel=CultureClubVEVO>time%20\(clock%20of%20the%20heart\)%20-%20culture%20club</a>%0A<a%20href=)
> 
> comments = <3


	7. counting the steps to the door of your heart

Bokuto is discharged the day after his surgery. He stays in Akaashi’s Tokyo apartment for a few days to rest a bit more before hobbling back to Osaka to join his team for their much postponed debriefing session.

They celebrate at the dorm to end the season. Coach Samson even sponsors their alcohol, to everyone’s surprise. Omi gets a bit too drunk, and the pictures go viral. Meian announces that the next season will be his last, because he’s starting a family with his fiance. Their celebration lasts another day.

Everyone packs up their belongings, and moves out of the dorm for the off season. Hinata heads for Sendai, Tomas for Sapporo, Inunaki for Nagoya, Barnes and Meian for Tokyo. Bokuto decides to stay a bit longer for his own convenience; he’s to continue his physical therapy for a few more weeks. MSBY’s designated PT holds clinic just a few blocks down so it doesn’t make sense for him to vacate his room just yet. Atsumu stays behind with him, not ready to go home yet, either.

The once limping Bokuto starts to walk again without his ankle brace, then he starts to jog, and finally he’s able to jump. Atsumu accompanies him to the gym sometimes. They start talking about their plans to go on a boys’ trip to Kobe again, and both of them collaborate on bookmarking ideas and pinning locations on Google Maps.

Akaashi quits his job on a whim, and declines to renew the lease of his apartment. Bokuto takes a train to Tokyo to help him pack up. They come back to Osaka together. His new apartment is in a quiet suburb three stops away from the MSBY dorm. It has a more open plan and even a small balcony for his potted plants.

Then, Atsumu and Osamu turn twenty six. Onigiri Miya closes down for the night to host the celebration.

* * *

Osamu’s phone beeps.

_I know we never really celebrate together, but I was thinking of hosting our birthdays at the main branch,_ his brother had texted. _How does the weekend after the 5th sound?_

It’s their first conversation in months, out of the blue. He lets the message stew in his inbox for a couple of days, and surprisingly, Atsumu doesn’t pester him for a reply.

He thinks about it for a bit. The weekend after their birthday… he doesn’t think he has anything going on, or any trips planned. If he’s honest with himself, Osamu had forgotten his – no, their – birthday was approaching. He’s usually too occupied to care, much less do anything beyond maybe cracking open a beer. But then again, he does that almost every other night, so it’s not much of a celebratory gesture.

But he knows what this is. Atsumu has finally swallowed his pride, and maybe so has Osamu. 

_That Saturday sounds good,_ he eventually texts back. After replying, he places his phone on silent mode, face down on the table for the rest of the day. _You’ll take care of inviting people?_

The party is hardly a party: it’s more of a small, intimate get together. They all pile into the restaurant, carrying cases of beer, boxes of cakes and food for sharing. There’s Aran, Kita, and Rin, who all arrived together in the rice farmer’s beat up (but ever reliable) pick up truck. Hinata tumbles in like a little tornado, right before Omi and Meian, who just had arrived in Hyogo earlier that afternoon.

Atsumu is already out back, helping his brother lay out the onigiri on a large platter. He had arrived earlier, leaving Bokuto to do his own thing around the city until their party began later that evening.

Earlier than afternoon, when Atsumu had arrived to help set up, he stood in the doorway for a long time, waiting for his brother to explicitly let him in. They had also looked at each other for a long time, feet apart, and Osamu’s chin had wobbled a bit. Until it flattened out into one of his customary slanted not-quite-smirk. The setter had taken that as a good enough cue to breach the threshold.

_It’s always like this,_ Atsumu thinks to himself, and his skin itches a bit.

“How’s Bokuto liking Kobe? You two have been all around Hyogo, right?” Osamu asks as he directs his brother around the little kitchen. They’re in dire need of expansion, and he mentally files the thought away into the backlog of things he needs to take care of.

“I’ve shown him around the bars downtown, and we drank ourselves stupid the other night,” Atsumu laughs fondly, if not a bit stiffly. “This morning we hit up Kitano, walked around a bit. He liked that one a lot.”

“And his ankle?”

“He’s all healed up, I think. Still have to be careful, yeah, but when his PT sessions ended the nurse didn’t seem worried. He walks around jus’ fine.”

They’re expecting maybe ten, fifteen people. Osamu counts the onigiri laid out, plus the nigiri he ordered from the neighboring sushi shop. His brother stands around with his hands in his apron pockets, waiting to be given more instructions.

Their guests out front are already boisterous, undoubtedly already breaking open the cases of beer. Hinata’s animated voice rings out, and it sounds like he’s recounting a funny story. Everyone laughs in response, and Atsumu smiles, peeking out a bit into the small overhead window to look at them.

“He’ll be here, right?” Osamu asks, as he wipes up the bowls he just washed.

“Who, Bokkun? Y-yeah. With Keiji,” the blonde answers. He had made extra sure that his brother was okay with it, asking almost every time they talked about their party. Atsumu was hesitant about inviting Bokuto in the first place, beating around the bush about the whole thing. Because of… y’know. Everything.

“Okay, cool.”

“Sorry, Samu,” he says, and Osamu rolls his eyes.

“I told ya, it’s fine. He’s one of yer best friends. And we extended a plus one invite to everyone, anyways,” he reassures. “Hey, could ya bring out more glasses from under there?”

Atsumu reaches up to grab the glasses for his brother. This is the very first time they’ve seen each other in person since that night in Tokyo, and he’s a bit disarmed with how easy they fall into conversation again. His skin starts to itch, again. They had spent a month or two with no contact, as a much needed cooling off session. Both of them went on with their lives, as adults do.

He had spent a lot of times, usually late into the night, staring at his phone trying to construct, reconstruct, and then deconstruct an apology text to his brother. But he had failed at that too, it seems, because now they’re face to face again before he even got to hit send. Atsumu was never really happy with the message.

But it also allowed him some time to think. He’s lucky to have the kind of relationship with his brother that didn’t demand too much in terms of false niceties or forced obligations. Their mother used to say that twins run on the same wavelength, and in high school, Atsumu truly believed that (despite their competitive friction). He used to believe that Osamu would get him no matter what, would understand him, and that they never needed to stoop down low enough to actually use their words. Volleyball was their medium; things didn’t have to change.

Even as their paths diverged. Even as their communication relied on measly short texts and on the occasional wordless exchange of warm paper bags. He used to think that maybe, that was enough. The low effort was fine. While the distance did suit them, helping them grow up, he has come to realize, softly: maybe we could both do better.

In between the ambient noises of beer glasses clinking alongside their friends’ chatter, and the sound of the sink running while Osamu washes the glasses, Atsumu feels sorry. 

So he says it like it is:

“Osamu, I’m sorry.”

They’re the same words as a few minutes before, but really, the underlying intention couldn’t have been more different. And maybe their mother was right in some ways, about how twins run on the same wavelength, because the man in question immediately stops what he’s doing and turns to face Atsumu. The sink’s stream of water stops. They’re both silent for what feels like a long time; it feels longer than the time it takes for the referee to call an in or an out, longer than the time it takes for the shrill whistle to cut through the taut air.

“I’m sorry, too,” Osamu then says. The cutting sarcasm and irreverent tone that usually stains their interactions is gone. It’s fun sometimes, but not all the time. But then he laughs a bit, and it sounds like a sharp exhale. “It’s been tough.”

“I’m sorry that I also have such a hard time saying sorry,” the blonde sighs, stepping forward. He takes his brother’s broad shoulder in his hand. But Osamu pulls him into a hug anyways; a real, warm one – not one of those barely there half-hugs they’re so used to.

“I missed ya, Tsumu.”

“I missed ya too, and I love ya. I was an idiot for pushin’ that way.”

Osamu lets him go and chuckles. “We both were. A birthday’s always a good opportunity to realize ya need to try harder.”

But Atsumu pulls his brother into another, even tighter hug. The right words that they both need to say and hear will come later, over the next few months. The wound begins to convalesce.

* * *

_A few months earlier_

“You’re sure, Keiji? You’re absolutely sure?”

“Well, I already signed the documents,” Akaashi says casually, washing the dishes. “So, it’s not like I can change my mind without making a lot of people angry.”

Bokuto puts his right foot up on the coffee table. He still has to wear a simple compression brace, but he’s thankful he can mostly walk around unassisted now. Akaashi stands in his small kitchen by the sink, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his hands covered in soap suds.

“So, uh. You have to be out of this apartment by the end of the month?”

“Right,” confirms Akaashi.

“And by that time you’d have already left your job?”

“Mhmm,” confirms Akaashi, again.

Bokuto’s heart lurches, but also flies. It kind of feels like both. He’s glad Akaashi is taking control of his life, doing things to start anew, hitting the reset button, et cetera et cetera. And he did it out of his own volition too; Bokuto is only hearing about this now.

But a part of him also worries: wait, what happens after that? Surely Akaashi didn’t just quit his job and give up his apartment, only to have no plan for himself.

Does this mean that…? He doesn’t think that family members or partners are allowed to be housed in the MSBY dorms, if that’s what Akaashi is suggesting. It’s not like they have the space to, anyways. Bokuto _does_ technically have his own apartment in Osaka, but he’s maybe there like, less than twenty times in a year. It’s really more like a storage room than an apartment; his ‘bed’ is a sorry excuse for a bed – it’s really just a cushion on a floor. He never had any reason to stay there because he was always either at the dorms and Akaashi’s place. The only reason he owns the place at all is due to his accountant’s insistence – stuff about leaving a paper trail, having your name on property… or something. In fact, he was contemplating giving it up and just renting an _actual_ storage room for his stuff.

His mind races. But if Akaashi’s plan is to move in with him, they’ll surely have to spruce up the place, maybe even look at bigger units. Bokuto doesn’t mind supporting him, he’s more than happy to!

“We’ll need to clean up my Osaka place a bit, but while we look for better places, it should be fine!” Bokuto says from the couch, craning his head towards the kitchen. “For the two of us, I think something a bit bigger than your apartment now would be fine.”

“Wait, huh?” Akaashi asks, facing him. He turns off the sink, wipes off his hands, and pads towards the living room.

Hold on – would Akaashi even be okay with moving to Osaka? They could always look for one here in Tokyo too… though he doesn’t know how that would work since his team isn’t based here… 

The darker haired man takes a seat next to Bokuto on the couch. He smiles fondly. “Bokuto-san, I’m planning to move to Osaka, yes. But I’m going to be looking for my own place.”  
  
“Oh! But–”

“I’m done with Tokyo, I think. And I’m also doing it so we can be closer together. But right now, I don’t think I’m ready to move in with you yet. At least for now, okay? I’m already looking at a few places around three or four stops away from your dorm.”

Maybe the old Bokuto would’ve been disappointed, maybe even a bit hurt, that an opportunity for them to finally move in together is just passing them by. They’ve been talking about doing this ever since Akaashi graduated from high school, like a far off dream. But as the now-Akaashi takes his hands and steadily looks into his eyes, Bokuto understands. He’s anything but disappointed.

They have time.

“I think it would be good for me,” Akaashi adds after a few beats. “Don’t you think?”

Bokuto nods and smiles. “I think so too, ‘Kaashi. Honestly, I kind of broke the bank buying train and bus tickets back and forth to Tokyo…” he admits. “So at least we’d be in the same area now.”

“So did I, going to your games... ”

They stare at each other, and both burst into a fit of giggles.

“Looking back, we weren’t really the best at talking, were we?” the athlete teases. Akaashi agrees with a solemn nod.

“And about my job. I’m going to try my hand at freelancing. I wrote a lot in college, so I have a decent enough portfolio. I was looking over it last night, and they weren’t actually half bad.”

“Oh, how does that work?” Bokuto asks, genuinely curious. “Like, for a magazine, or the newspaper, or something? How do you even start doing that?”

Akaashi stands up and grabs his laptop, opening up a spreadsheet. It’s a detailed and organized file. “You underestimate me!” he laughs. “I’d like to get some stories published, but that’s for the future. I can’t really be picky starting out, so for now I’m putting together a list of editors – for newspapers, online, magazines – that I’m planning to cold email my portfolio to. And I met some people at my job that might be able to help me out with connections.”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto exclaims, shaking him excitedly. “You’ve done so much already!”

“I’ve actually started emailing some of them. And I’ve already gotten a few bites, too. But, y’know, nothing is set in stone yet,” Akaashi says shyly.

The athlete jumps up and gasps. He takes the other man’s hand, pulling him up, too. “God, ‘Kaashi, I’m so happy. I’m _so_ happy for you!”

They embrace, tightly, in the tight space between the worn couch and the secondhand coffee table. Akaashi giggles into Bokuto’s smooth neck; he smells mostly like fresh laundry and also a bit like sweat. It’s an old smell he’s grown accustomed to over the years, but it’s also a smell he wouldn’t mind keeping near him in this new chapter in his life.

Bokuto pulls back a bit, and his eyes wander towards Akaashi’s pink mouth. The darker haired man licks his lips, instinctively, consciously. “C-can I kiss you?” the former asks.

Akaashi smiles and nods; their mouths slot together naturally like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

These are careful, baby steps. Bokuto runs his strong hands over his boyfriend’s(?) back. They’re no longer broken up, and each day is a new day to continue patching things up between them, ensuring they’ll do better to not repeat their past pitfalls. But they’re not quite ‘back together’ in the official sense, either – neither of them are ready to jump back in quite yet.

They had talked about it at length. Akaashi was enthusiastic and hopeful for this second chance, Bokuto the same, but both had recognized rushing back in would only lead them down the same path. The uncertainty of operating under no label would’ve scared Akaashi into a corner in the past. But now, what sits in front of them is an empty room waiting to be filled, a blank wall waiting to be painted over. They allow themselves a space to grow into again, taking their time, like soft warm animals making a den for themselves in the crisp fall.

In Osaka, there are new, much needed beginnings, but there are also old comforts. So Akaashi lets himself lean into them.

* * *

Akaashi stands by the entrance of Onigiri Miya, fashionably late, with Bokuto hanging onto him. The party has long since started, with beer cans littering the tables and the pile of onigiri threatening to be demolished soon.

“Sorry we’re late,” Akaashi immediately says and bows. “I planned to meet up with Bokuto-san by the nearest station since he was in this area already, and I was coming from my apartment in Osaka, but I got the names mixed up, so we had to look for each other, then he realized he forgot to pick up some food, so then we had to walk around the area trying to find something suitable, but then I–”

“Hey, hey, Keiji, it’s fine! Look, still lots to eat,” Atsumu shouts and waves from the far end of the table he’s sitting at. Everyone else greets the two excitedly, and so Akaashi exhales and smiles. Bokuto waves behind him.

“Hey, hey to you too, Tsumu! Happy birthday! And hi to everyone else!”

Bokuto bounces over to Hinata, and shows off how his ankle is as good as new by doing a few jumping jacks. But they eventually take a seat next to each other, and Akaashi’s greedy hands immediately reach out for an onigiri.“Disinfect your hands first, at least,” Omi grits out, already pulling out his little spray bottle of rubbing alcohol. The other man relents and holds out his hands.

“Even when you’re tipsy you’re still the same, Omi-Omi!” Bokuto laughs, also holding out his hands for a spray. “Thanks.”

“Akaashi, tell your boyfriend to carry his own,” the ravenette says, bluntly. Everyone laughs.

Akaashi blushes a bit, sneaking a glance at Bokuto. “Not my boyfriend. We’re not back together, actually.”

The table _oooh_ s. Awkwardly. Atsumu looks between both of them; while they were out around Hyogo Bokuto had filled him in on their situation; he seemed genuinely happy about it. And the blonde was happy for Akaashi too, for taking such a big leap of faith with quitting his job and moving away from Tokyo. Something like that takes a lot of courage.

“I mean, we are! Kinda?” Bokuto continues loudly. “We’re just letting it happen, y’know? Oh! Speaking of. Akaashi here has started writing for a men’s magazine based in Tokyo!”

“Bokuto-san…” Akaashi bashfully whines. “My editor is still reviewing my first round of pitches.”

“Wait, so, you had to move away to Osaka to write for a mag based in Tokyo? But you used to already live in–” Hinata pipes up, but is stopped with a sharp nudge in the side from Atsumu.

“I’m happy for ya, Keiji,” the blonde interrupts, raising his glass. They all cheer and congratulate the writer.

Thankfully, they were able to find a nice cake shop at the station. Akaashi undoes the decorative ribbon around the box and removes the lid. Everyone at the table is leaning over to check out what kind of cake it is.

“I don’t know what kind of dedication Bokuto-san picked because we were in a hurry, so…”

It’s a chocolate cake adorned with strawberries and caramel swirls. There are no words written in icing, just a cute little drawing of an anthropomorphized onigiri hugging an anthropomorphized volleyball. Everyone crowded around _awww_ s. Aran is to the side already bringing out a lighter for the candles.

Osamu walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands with a washcloth. Everyone has been pestering him to take a seat and celebrate his own party, but the restaurant owner in him doesn’t let him. So he’s been weaving in and out, always with a new tray of food or a new bottle of liquor in his hands when he returns to the table.

“What’s all this?”

“Look at the cake, Myaa-sam!” Hinata yelps, motioning him to come closer, like one would with a puppy.

So he walks towards where everyone is, and when he does, he and Akaashi lock eyes. Osamu nods to him with a small smile after a second, and the other man nods back.

“Ah. Osamu-san, hello,” Akaashi greets plainly. This is also their first time meeting up in person after _that_ game. “Happy birthday.”

Bokuto tries to cooly place an arm around his partner’s shoulder over the seat. He can’t help it. Akaashi shoots him a pointed look, and the arm sheepishly retreats. Atsumu tries to stifle a laugh, and barely succeeds.

“Thank ya, Keiji, glad ya could make it,” Osamu returns with a genuine smile. “Here, lemme pour you a beer.”

He procures a glass out of seemingly nowhere, and slides it towards Akaashi. The beer is a beautiful, golden color, and some foam drips down the side ever so slightly. Meian claps three times, initiating another toast before they sing their disjointed, slightly drunken rendition of Happy Birthday.

* * *

_A few months earlier, again_

Osamu barely makes the night bus back to Hyogo. He runs through the terminal and up to the conductor digging his phone out of his pocket to show his e-ticket. Thankfully, he’s let on and he quickly finds his seat.

He doesn’t remember drifting off to sleep, but he falls into a dreamless slumber with his cheek pressed against the glass. Osamu is too worn out to keep his brain on. There’s nobody in the seat beside him, miraculously, so he’s afforded a bit more wiggle room.

It’s an uneventful and routine trip, and it’s seven in the morning when they arrive in Hyogo. His legs ache from the lack of leg room, so when they unboard Osamu sighs in relief. He only has a backpack with him, plus the now empty insulated bag, so there’s no need for him to wait for the conductor to unload the rest of the passengers’ baggage from the bus.

Osamu checks his phone. There are twelve texts and two missed calls from Akaashi. And one from Atsumu. He doesn’t know which one he wants to open first because he wants to open _neither_ of them.

The bus terminal is near the station, so he walks to a small open bakery in the same building to grab something to eat. After he takes a few bites of his egg salad sandwich, Osamu sighs in defeat, deciding to open his brother’s text first.

_Can you call me_ , is all it reads. Uh, no he will not. If anything, it’s a great introduction to what the other messages sitting in his inbox have in store for him.

He grimaces, pressing the ‘back’ button.

_Did your brother tell you already???_

_Osamu-san, I’m sorry, I was going to tell you myself_

_I can’t blame him_

_I’m sorry, can we talk_

_You’re probably already on your way home, but can you call me when you can?_

_I want to explain to you._

And Akaashi’s messages go on like that. Osamu doesn’t know what kind of conversation his brother had with his ex… something. It’s not his problem how Atsumu brought up how he was a double crossing loose lipped asshole.

Against his better judgement, Osamu hits the call button.

Akaashi picks up on the second ring.

“Osamu,” he says immediately, the name rushing out of his mouth. There’s some rustling and some voices in the background, but they fade after Akaashi seems to walk out and close a door behind him.

“Hi,” Osamu says back, and provides nothing else. He decides to let the other man have the floor.

“So… Atsumu-san told you, I guess.”

“He did.”

Akaashi breathes in and out for a few seconds, and it’s the only sound for a while. “I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t want you to find out this way. I– even I didn’t think this would happen… Osamu…-san. I’m really, really sorry.”

“What did Atsumu tell ya?” he asks, trying to keep his voice level.

“He said he told you that he saw us kissing, which is what happened. He also said he told you that we were, uh. Back together. But that part isn’t true.”

That last part takes Osamu by genuine surprise. What the hell was Akaashi’s deal? Another installment in his self-denial’s Greatest Hits? Upon seeing how the man pretty much threw himself at the injured Bokuto, he thought that them getting back together would’ve been a no brainer. Osamu had all of yesterday afternoon and evening to process that fact, and to take the loss. So he’s not exactly surprised that all of this is happening, really. At least he’ll have his business to distract him to temper the dull hurt.

But, all that, and they’re not even together again?

“What?” Osamu asks sharply. “Why aren’t you two…?”

“It’s more complicated than just kissing and making up. We have lots to talk about. We haven’t even started,” Akaashi admits quietly. “But, look. That’s not really the point. I really wanted to apologize to you. I’m not surprised that Atsumu-san told you really, so I don’t actually blame him, since he’s your brother and all…”

And that’s not the point either. Atsumu is the last person Osamu wants to be talking about right now.

“Well, we were just havin’ fun, right? It’s not like this was a long-term, serious thing. Yer allowed to do what ya want, Keiji,” he reckons, trying his best to shrug it off. And, at the end of the day, it’s true. There’s no use beating himself over with a stick with what-ifs or should-haves when the nature of their relationship was made clear from the very start. It’s his own fault for not acting on his own growing feelings.

_Wrong place, wrong time_ : this is the phrase Osamu has been repeating in his head again and again since yesterday. _It’s nobody’s fault._

“O-oh. Yeah, it was just fun. But I feel like– that– I don’t know, Osamu. I really liked you,” Akaashi whispers. “I don’t want to make you feel like I used you, or that you were just convenient to me–”

He knows Akaashi is trying his damndest to not use the word _placeholder_. But Osamu ruefully figures that in their own way, placeholders serve a purpose too.

“If yer happy, Keiji, if I helped ya realize the things ya needed to realize, or helped ya get to the places ya needed to get to, then I don’t mind it,” he tries to assert. “I mean, I won’t lie to ya. I’m hurt, because I really liked ya too. I had lots of fun, and not just because of the sex. I’ll miss havin’ ya over, and havin’ ya show me around.”

“We can still do that, Osamu! We can be friends, I’m sure Bokuto-san will be okay with it…”

Osamu sighs into the speaker. People are starting to file into the station for the morning rush. “Maybe, Keiji. I’d love to. But maybe not yet. I think ya still have things ya need to work through, both with yerself and with Koutarou. I appreciate it, though.”

Akaashi is quiet on the end of the other line. But Osamu can practically feel the gears in his head spinning and whirring.

“Really, Keiji,” he continues. “I get it. Whatever ya feel sorry about, I’ll forgive ya, just in the near future when things settle down. Don’t worry about me okay? Let’s give it a few months, and then take it from there.”

“You’re so kind to me, always,” Akaashi sniffles. “Thank you.”

Osamu smiles and ends the call. He remembers he constantly told Akaashi: _You make it so easy to be kind to you._ He hopes he remembers that and tucks that sentiment away safely in his pocket. Before he knows it, the station is packed with salarymen, students, and lost looking tourists. He walks into the crowd and finds consolation in being able to disappear into it.

* * *

Surprisingly, Aran and Kita are the ones who suggest bar hopping to continue their little shindig. 

Their get together was tame, by Miya twin standards. They’ve had post-game celebrations with stronger alcohol and bigger crowds before, ones that last well into the next morning.

All of them file out into the street outside and stand around to strategize their game plan for the rest of the night. Meian is peering down into his phone screen scrolling through Google Maps, his face being lit up in the dark. Around him stand Hinata, Bokuto, and Atsumu, and they all (unhelpfully) point out nearby drinking holes that are walkable.

There’s a cool crispness in the air, and Akaashi is relieved that he decided at the last minute to throw on a cardigan. Bokuto is just in a cotton sweatshirt, and he sees him already slightly shivering, trying to huddle close to the human furnace that is Hinata Shouyo.

“Hey, you.”

Akaashi’s one of the last ones to step out of the onigiri shop, just following behind everyone. He turns around and sees Osamu, backlit against Onigiri Miya. The warm lighting reminds him of that one evening he got stranded in the rain in an unfamiliar part of town. That’s the night they bumped into each other.

“Hi, Osamu-san.”

“Oh, we’re past that. Just Osamu’s fine,” the taller man corrects. “So, bar hoppin’, huh?” There’s a subtle smirk plastered on his face, and a teasing glint in his dark eyes.

The inside joke isn’t lost on Akaashi. He chuckles softly. “I told you, I don’t do that kind of thing. So I’ll probably be one of the responsible ones to babysit them.”

“A respectable role.”

Akaashi doesn’t have a quip to throw back, so he just remains silent as they stand together by the entrance of the shop. Internally, he sighs in quiet relief. They’re okay. They’re on the way to being okay, and Osamu was right about giving it a few months. He feels compelled to thank him once again, for his kindness.

“Osamu, I–”

“I’ll stay behind, I think.”

They say it at the same time, and it pulls a giggle out of both of them. Akaashi motions the other man to go ahead.

“I’ll stay behind. I’ve had a long week, and the Tokyo branch is finally openin’ next Tuesday. I need all the rest I can get,” Osamu says. “But you guys have fun, on my behalf.”

“Are you sure?” Akaashi asks. “I think we’ll just be nearby.”

“Nah, I’m good. Cross my heart. Anyways, you were sayin’?”

“Oh, it was nothing,” the shorter man breathes. They meet each other’s gazes, openly and steadily. He feels that Osamu understands, and knows. “Congratulations on the Tokyo branch, by the way.”

“Couldn’t have done it without ya, Keiji. Really,” he declares.

The small crowd of their friends finalize their game plan for the night, at last. They’re to hit up an izakaya down the road, then a few bars nearer the station, and then a trendy nightclub in the Kobe city center (as per Atsumu’s suggestion, er, begging). After that, only god knows. Bokuto calls Akaashi over, motioning that they’re heading out already. He nods and walks towards his partner, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll see you around, Osamu!”

“Hey, you’re not joinin’, Samu?” Aran scolds. Everyone groans in disappointment. “I told ya, drinks are on me! At least for our first stop!”

“It’s your own birthday!” Meian calls out.

“Oh, c’mon Samuuuuu!” Atsumu yells. “Just this once!”

He waves them off insisting that he’ll be fine. “Long week!”

After a few minutes of back and forth, they eventually, reluctantly let Osamu stay behind. He promises on the new branch’s life that he’ll join them next time.

The man watches his friends and his brother walk off down the road to their next haunt. There’s a skip in everyone’s step, excited that the night is only now starting. Bokuto has a thick arm around Akaashi, who looks as reserved as ever, but doesn’t push him off. After a few moments, he leans into it contentedly.

Osamu also watches Atsumu hoot and laugh, carefree, clearly already a bit drunk, bumping a bit into a disgruntled Meian. He would’ve wanted to talk to Atsumu a bit more, maybe just to two of them, but the blonde looks happy. They have time.

He sighs a bit and stretches out his tired shoulders. A part of him feels too old for this.

The shop is quiet and still when he steps back in. It’s not as trashed as he was anticipating, since he only let them go on the condition that they’d help clean up. There are a few empty bottles of sake and whiskey sitting on the counter, and what remains of the cake (which really, is just the cardboard box it came in). He re-ties his apron and scoops up the bottles, washing them thoroughly to put on display on a vacant shelf somewhere. Maybe it’ll look nice by the Osaka branch’s entrance; it’s been in need of more decor lately.

Osamu hums to himself as he wipes down the counter. He’s spent many nights alone in the shop, crunching numbers, cleaning up, testing out new recipes. So the silence isn’t new. But this night, it’s quieter, lonelier than usual. He chuckles to himself, a bit self deprecating, about the irony of him being left behind to clean everything up after everyone.

When he turns around to look over everything. His shop is the same as ever reminding him that his evening’s party was just that: a party. With the mess mostly cleaned up, everything is unmoved and still. The umbrellas left behind by some clumsy customers still sit by the threshold. The mop he likes to keep in the kitchen for accidental spills remains tucked away in its corner. The upturned chairs on the tables they didn’t occupy are still in the same position. The quiet hum of the shop’s refrigerator is still there.

And everything is Osamu: a bit messy, improvised, tired. It weighs on his shoulders a bit. Maybe this him, at the end of the day, when you strip away the excitement that a lover can bring, or an indulgent night in the town.

He rolls around the muted, poignant feeling around over his tongue and across his teeth. Then he swallows it down because it has nowhere else to go.

The refrigerator hums on.

But then the door chimes open, cutting through the relative silence of the shop. He turns his head around. Now who...

“We’re closed, read the sign!”

“Hey.” 

It’s Atsumu, standing by the heavy door. He’s breathing a bit heavily, wiping a bit of sweat off his dark brow.

“Uh, forgot somethin’?” Osamu asks, confused. He reaches for a glass of cold water for his brother, second nature. “Did ya run back here? What the hell.”

The blonde shakes his head and laughs. It’s a light, bright sound. “Nah, nah,” he pants, obviously a bit inebriated. “Changed my mind. I told them I’d stay behind too.”

“What– why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? I wanted ta’. Almost got a beatin’ from Aran, too, so thank me at least!”

There’s a few beats of silence, and Atsumu uses the opportunity to reach for one of the unfinished bottles of soju still perched on the table. “Bring out two more glasses, would ya? All of these still here are used. God, I think Omi’s rubbin’ off on me.”

Osamu acquiesces, and takes a seat next to his brother at the bar as he plops down the two empty glasses.

“So ya just agreed to stay behind while everyone else goes off to party,” the younger twin inquires. He’s not unwelcoming of his brother’s sudden company, he’s just surprised is all, especially when Atsumu is the one who seemed the most excited about their after party.

“Yep,” the other twin says with a slight smile. He tips over the bottle into their glasses until it’s empty and gives it a few playful slaps at the base for good measure. 

“Hey, Samu. I know I said this awhile ago, an’ the alcohol’s makin’ my tongue looser than usual… but I missed ya a lot, y’know? I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“...I’m sorry too, Tsumu. I really fucked up. We both did.”

“I– Yeah. I had this whole, like, novel written out to ya on my phone, about how we should both do better, how we should make more of an effort but all the words have just evaporated outta my head.”

Osamu softens a bit and nods in agreement, taking a good look at the man beside him. “We help each other grow up,” he says, quietly. There isn’t really much more to it. Atsumu slides his glass across the counter a bit, in his twin’s direction. 

“Cheers, and happy birthday to us. Here’s to twenty six.”

Osamu smiles, but then breaks into a loud, fond laugh for no reason at all. Atsumu follows along, bumping shoulders with his twin brother. Their glasses clink. His shoulders relax, and the silence of the shop is comforting again.

“Happy birthday, Tsumu. I’m glad yer here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading. i really love the twins' relationship, and how it grows through the years despite many hardships during their formative years – competition, friction, and diverging paths. their arc wraps up beautifully and perfectly in the manga, with atsumu realizing that the most important person to him is osamu, and osamu realizing this too, about atsumu. in this fic, i wanted to fill in the blank that the manga didn't have the chance to cover: the two of them reaching the maturity to actually realize they need to put in the effort and exertion to make things work. but the best, truest kinds of love (be it platonic, romantic, familial) require that effort and exertion - but it's fulfilling and rewarding. and i think this also applies to bokuto and akaashi, i hope that parallel was able to shine through.
> 
> i'd like to think that everyone in this fic helps each other grow up in some way, some in big ways and some in small ways, like a giant spiderweb!
> 
> please let me know what you think of this fic, or this chapter <3 i really really appreciate it.
> 
> [don't dream it's over - crowded house](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9gKyRmic20&ab_channel=CrowdedHouseVEVO)  
> [time (clock of the heart) - culture club](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=74LOcw-ap-g&ab_channel=1980tunes)  
> [cool - gwen stefani](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_y2YR3Iei2M&ab_channel=RawRrrItsLozzaaa) (this one is for osaaka nation – i think they develop a very genuine, close, and special friendship!)

**Author's Note:**

> i really appreciate all comments, even ones that are just a few words. please let me know what you think. i enjoy being shouted at (lovingly)
> 
> ... which you can do on twitter too! let's talk, i like to make friends @msbytwelve
> 
> shoutout to the waterboys and their song "the whole of the moon", which is basically this fic's theme song, and where the title is from. go give it a listen! i'm also working on a playlist!


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